Nature vs Nurture
by sshk0409
Summary: I'm intrigued by Rumplestiltskin's evolution. From debased peasant to the Dark One. He was a reactive personality at first. But by the time he's locked up in the cell, he's the one making others react. The voice changes, the showmanship like gestures, they all came from somewhere. We've seen very little of that evolution. So I'm making one up. I hope you enjoy reading it.
1. At First Site

"Then I'll just have to kill him." Rumplestiltskin walked away from the dying seer. Images formed and vanished in front of his eyes, a jumbled kaleidoscope of colors. Some images stayed still while others moved. Some were silent while others had sounds, voices, a cacophony of noises. It was too much to take in all at once. He stumbled over a tree root hidden by a picture and as he flailed his arms, trying unsuccessfully to regain his balance, he discovered that he could move the pictures. He landed unceremoniously on the ground with a twisted knee and scraped palms. "Ow," he muttered and quickly looked around to see if there was anyone around to notice. Not that they would remember his falling. Bugs don't really remember anything after they've been squashed...

A brief wish of magic and his injuries and dignity were fixed. But he decided to continue sitting while he figured out how to control what he saw. _No sense falling over again._ After a few mis-starts, he found that if he 'touched' a picture with one hand, he could move it left or right, up or down, or even swish it out of sight. If he 'touched' it with two hands, he could stretch it or shrink it. He paused at one picture: a beautiful young woman with raven black hair, pale skin, and a midnight blue dress that hugged every curve of her body. He swished it gone. He closed his eyes and concentrated on bringing the image back. When he opened his eyes, every image, still and moving, was of this woman. Sitting, standing, riding horses, sitting in carriages, sitting on a throne, lying in bed with young man asleep at her side, caught by vines that held her feet above the ground. He swished all the pictures away but one; a moving picture of her riding. She was smiling as she moved with her horse, galloping across the fields. He concentrated on the sound of the hoofbeats and found that he could think them louder or softer or gone entirely. He 'touched' the middle of the image and it froze. He dragged his finger to the left and the horse and rider moved backwards in time. He giggled. _A horse running backwards is funny looking. _The faster his finger moved, the faster they moved backwards. His finger slid off the image and it reverted to moving forward in time. He placed his finger on the left most part of the image and it went backwards, past where he had seen it start, back to the girl mounting her horse outside the stables. _If I touch left, it moves backwards, so touching right means it moves forwards? _He froze the image and swished it away.

He closed his eyes and concentrated again. _I want to see my home_. When he opened his eyes, he saw a few pictures of his house. But most of the pictures were of a castle made in blue-gray stone, towers and turrets shining in the sun. Nestled in the mountains, there was only one road leading up to the castle. And the nearest village was miles away. "I know this place!" he sputtered. "I burned it down!" He swished all the images away. A wish of magic, a puff of black smoke, and Rumplestiltskin was standing outside the ruins of the former Duke of the Frontier's castle.

He picked his way through the rubbled courtyard and walked into what would have been the main entryway. What had been the doors to the great hall were charred and broken on the floor. Long piles of cinders lay on the floor: the remains of the tapestries and curtains that had once hung on the walls, the ashes of tables and chairs. Broken glass lay scattered everywhere, shattered from the heat of the flames. He sent out tendrils of magic to the stones of the castle, pushing to see if they were still strong or also destroyed by the fire. There were a few broken and in need of replacement, a few loosened by cracked mortar, but for the most part, the bones of the castle looked structurally sound.

The seclusion of the site was perfect. He could practice his magic in peace and quiet, away from the prying eyes and ears of nosy neighbors. He could learn how to write curses, to create The Curse, and wait for the caster to be born. One of those towers was ideal for his work space. There were bound to be dungeons to hold any intruders. _And no one around to hear them scream._ And with the changes he had seen in the image, the new wall around the castle, the new turrets, there were bound to be plenty of bedrooms for Bae to choose from when he came home.

First things first. He wished magic into the castle's walls, strengthening them, fixing the broken stones and replacing the cracked mortar. He magicked the debris that filled the castle and courtyard away. And magicked the vermin into the forest and placed a spell so that they could never return.

_That's enough for one day_, he thought. _I need to read a book on building before I attempt to add the outer walls and roofs and stuff._ A thought and he was outside a bookshop. He walked in and, ignoring the nervous bowing of the proprietor, removed every book on building from the shelves. He poured some coins into the man's hand, certain it was more than enough. And if not? _Oh well. That's what you get when you do business with the Dark One! _ He wished himself and his books back to his home, his hovel.

The emptiness was overwhelming. The silence deafening. Bae's belongings lay just as he had left them; the cleaning woman was not allowed to touch anything that was Bae's. Rumplestiltskin sat at the table to eat the now cold dinner she had left and began to read.


	2. A New Beginning

Rumplestiltskin read for three days straight. He pushed the last book aside and rubbed the strain from his eyes. His mind was full of building terms. Load-bearing walls versus non load-bearing walls. Which type of mortar worked best with which type of stone. Roofs: slate, wood, thatch, and why each type worked. Whether to build with stone, brick, wood, or mud and the advantages and disadvantages of each. Drainage! There were multiple chapters in each book just on drainage. And not just sewage drainage. That he understood. _No one enjoys the smell of the privy while eating one's dinner._ But apparently one also had to worry about water and snow draining off the roof and battlements and draining the water that flowed around and even under the castle. Then there was the matter of the width of the base of the wall in relation to the height of the wall and its shape. And something called a flying buttress? Whatever that was it sounded more like a children's joke than an architectural object. And to top it all off was the discussion on glazing. One author suggested buying the glass first and then designing the windows to fit the sizes received rather than cutting the glass to fit the windows.

The good thing about building with magic was that he did not have to follow all the rules. But it helped to use as much of the natural as possible to reduce the strain on the unnatural. So he found a quarry that cut the grey-blue stone he wanted. And he made an offer: a rather low price for the stones in exchange for not turning the manager into the dog he resembled. The stones were magicked back to the castle and slowly they were formed into new turrets and towers and the new outer wall.

The owner of the lumberyard bargained all the free wood cut to size the Dark One could want in exchange for a saw that would never dull and never cut anything but wood. A blacksmith traded buckets of nails for an enchantment on his hammer: that it would always strike true.

The glazier, however, required a firmer hand. He was a portly fellow, his face flushed, supposedly from the heat of the fire and glass. But Rumplestiltskin suspected it was more from excessive drinking; the man reeked of stale ale. A young apprentice, perhaps 5 or 6 years old, was carrying a bucket filled with sand to the journeymen hard at work. Multi colored bruises on his face, arms and legs showed that he had been beaten recently and repeatedly. The boy had floppy brown hair and eyes that were reminiscent of Baelfire. Rumplestiltskin became coldly furious. "Children are not for hitting," he taunted the master glazier. "I'd give you a taste of your own medicine, but..." He waved his hands; black smoke encircled the glazier. When the smoke cleared, a pail full of silica sand sat on the ground in his place. Rumplestiltskin turned to the apprentice, "I suggest you learn to make glass from your master." The boy paled behind his bruises as Rumplestiltskin laughed at his pun. _That was a good one._ He then gave the journeymen glaziers precise measurements for the window panes, "Give me exactly what I ask for and you won't find yourself following in your master's footsteps."

The lumber, nails and glass were magicked back to the castle and shaped into floors, stairs, and windows. After almost a month of reconstruction, the castle was finally ready to be lived in. He moved his personal belongings from his house into the largest bedroom. When he was finished straightening everything to his satisfaction, he looked around at the three quarters of the room that was still empty and sighed. His pots and pans all fit in one cupboard of the kitchen, and his dishes in another. His cooking and eating utensils didn't even begin to fill one drawer. He moved his spinning wheel to a corner of the great hall next to the fireplace. And placed a basket of wool within easy reach. His books and magical items were placed in the top room of the tallest tower. Lastly, he tackled Bae's stuff. He choked back sobs as he painstakingly folded the clothing and placed them in drawers in a room down the hall from his own bedroom. He hung the boy's cloak in the wardrobe, carefully cleaned mud off his extra pair of boots, and placed them on the floor. The few toys Bae had owned were placed on a stand next to the bed. Tears now streaming freely down his face, Rumplestiltskin stood in the doorway and cast a preservation spell on the room. Nothing and no one would be permitted to disturb this room.

Everything he owned was put away. His footsteps echoed loudly through the empty rooms as he walked to the great hall. He sat and began to spin. The only sounds in the castle were the spinning wheel creaking, the wool sighing as it stretched and wound on the spindle, and Rumplestiltskin's sobs. _Oh, Bae._


	3. A Lesson Learned

Rumplestiltskin's life in the castle over the next months settled into a dull routine. In the mornings he read his spell books and practiced various spells until he had them memorized. In the afternoons he would practice potion making. And he spun wool every evening until he had only enough energy to stumble to bed. Every once in a while, he left the castle to obtain new spell books, potion ingredients, and to sell his thread.

The leaves on the trees were just starting to change colors the afternoon that all changed; a stranger knocked on the outer door.

Rumplestiltskin transported himself to the entrance hall and let magic open the doors. The stranger was impeccably dressed, but with a marked deference about him that indicated he was of the peasant class rather than nobility. _A wealthy merchant perhaps?_ "Good afternoon, sir, my lord, um, Dark One," the words tumbled out of the man's mouth. "I have a daughter, beautiful she is, with many suitors. Ten! Well, maybe no more than twenty, but at least five." _I don't care._ "Um, well, see, um, there's this baronet now, and he's interested in the blacksmith." _Really?_ "Um, I mean, the baronet is interested in Maya, but she's interested in the blacksmith." _Oh, changes things a bit, but I still don't care._ "So he, the baronet, not the blacksmith, well, the blacksmith too, both of them actually. Has? Have. Have offered to marry Maya, that's my daughter, but she turned him down. The baronet, that is, not the blacksmith. She hasn't given him, the blacksmith, an answer yet. She says he's mean spirited, the baronet is, and a snob." _Where is this going?_ "So I've come to ask you to make me twenty shirts and I'll give you a spell or something." _I don't think so._ "Wait, I'll make you twenty shirts. I'm a tailor; the best one in the realm, if I do say so myself. If you would give me a spell or potion or something to make her see reason."

The tailor took a deep breath. "See you're the Dark One, and I can see that you're wearing homespun. Not that homespun is bad, and yours is of decent quality, actually. Can I ask who made your shirt?" _I could tell you if you'd stop talking._ "I can make you better! I can... Oh, wait, I didn't mean to say I can make you better, 'cause you're the Dark One; you're supposed to be evil." _Will you get to the point?_ "Sorry, can you forget I said that?" _Probably not._ "What I mean to say is that I can make better shirts for you. There. I can make you the best looking and best fitting silk shirts of the highest quality in all the realm."

Rumplistiltskin tilted his head and glared at the tailor for several moments. When the tailor opened his mouth to resume talking, Rumplestiltskin pointed his right index finger at the man and waggled it. "Ah, ah, ah." The tailor flinched with each wag. _Interesting response. What else can I make him do?_ He started circling the tailor who was now visibly twitching as he forced his head to not follow the Dark One's progress. Rumplstiltskin made his voice sound as matter-of-fact as he could. "Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want to make me twenty shirts. In exchange, I will provide you with something that will enable your daughter to see clearly who she should marry. Shake your head yes or no." The tailor's head nodded yes. Rumplestiltskin stepped directly in front of the tailor and leaned in until their noses were only inches apart. He could see the sweat starting to bead up on the tailor's forehead. _I like this. I like making him squirm. _He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, "What makes you think that I would do this for you?"

The tailor stepped back. "Well, I have a brother." _Oh, brother._ "Brother-in-law really; he's married to my youngest sister, but he's more like a brother to me than my own. He works at the mill. Lumberyard. Where you spelled saw?" _You really need to speak more slowly and think about what you're going to say before you say it._ "Um, you put a spell on the saw so that it only cuts wood. He got caught, his clothes got caught on a log that was being cut. And he would have died. He should have died. But your spell? It worked! He lived. And I thought... I thought that if you could do that, maybe you could make her see reason. He's a baronet! Her sons will be nobles! Minor, perhaps, but still nobles! Her daughters could marry into the aristocracy! Can you imagine? My grandchildren could be aristocrats! What's wrong with a bit of mean spiritedness or snobbery if it means my grandchildren, her children, can be nobles? But no. She's more interested in muscles and brawn and broken noses than thinking about her future." The tailor's shoulders stooped. "I just want what's best for her," he sighed.

Rumplestilkskin waved his hand and an elaborately carved arm chair appeared. _Well, that was a bit more than I anticipated. _He made a show of settling into the chair, arms just so on the rests, right leg crossed almost daintily over the left. "The way I see it, you owe me." Rumplestiltskin wagged the toes of his right boot. He smiled to see that the tailor's eyes were glued to the motion. "Your sister would be a widow were it not for me. However." He uncrossed his legs. "I will make your potion. I will accept the shirts as payment for the potion." He paused and very deliberately entwined his fingers together. "But you owe me for the life. Do we have a deal?" _Oh! I like that. Do we have a deal. I like that very much._

The tailor agreed with alacrity. Measuring for the shirts was the work of a few moments, and at long last, Rumplestiltskin was alone again.

He transported himself and the chair next to the fire place in the great hall. _The tailor used an event in his past to try to change his future. But I can see the future. Is it possible to use knowledge of the future to change my present?_ He closed his eyes and concentrated on seeing a single moving image of the tailor's future. He touched the right side of the image and forwarded time to Maya's wedding. He changed focus to the groom and moved him backwards in time to see his occupation. _A leathersmith. Appropriate for the daughter of a tailor, I suppose. But how can I use that to my advantage?_

Over the next few days, Rumplestiltskin brewed a potion to make one able to see anyone's true nature. And he thought about the leathersmith.

When the tailor returned with the silk shirts in hand, Rumplestiltskin was ready. The shirts were heavenly to wear and perfectly fitted as promised. "She need only take a small sip of this potion while she's talking to her beaux. She will see his true nature come out, and be able to decide who will make her the best husband." He twirled in front of a mirror, looking at his image from all sides. "This shirt is exquisite. But it's missing something. Perhaps a waistcoat in dragon skin? To match my scales." He grinned at the tailor. "And pants that are a little more form fitting than homespun, eh? If you know anyone good at working with leather, you can send them here. I'm sure a deal can be arranged." He handed the potion to the tailor, and waved him away, still admiring his reflection.


	4. From the Ashes a Phoenix Rises

"I look like a lizard pirate." the leathersmith had left an hour before and Rumplestiltskin was modeling one of the outfits. Knee high black boots covered skin tight leather pants. A black, form fitting, quilted dragon skin waistcoat with hints of green covered a dull gold silk shirt. He hadn't looked at his body, really looked, for years. No one, including himself, had ever wanted to look closely at the crippled body of the coward. _Milah looked. She enjoyed looking at one time, in those happy months after the wedding. Before I was called to fight. Back when we thought I might not be a coward. _A small triangle of chest hair showed in the vee of the shirt. _Milah used to slide her hand down the neck of my shirts and curl her fingers in my hair while I was working. She used to say that she loved the feel of it sliding against her skin. Rough and soft at the same time, she said it excited her_.

_Bitch._

Was he handsome? _Other than the skin, that is._ Trim waist, slender legs that were muscled from walking but not overly muscular. His arms were covered by billowing sleeves, but he knew they were toned from his work at the wheel. He was shorter than he'd like to be, but the heels on the boots gave an illusion of more height. And he was no longer hunched over the cane, so that made him feel taller. He twisted to look at his backside, but the stiff high collar of the waistcoat made turning his head more difficult than normal. A second mirror appeared behind him. "Not bad. Other than the skin and the eyes, I look quite dashing."

In the homespun, he had looked ill, diseased. But this? This outfit made his scaly, greenish gold skin look exotic, alien. Human-like in form, yet not human at all. He straightened his posture, imitating the few nobles he had seen strutting through the town. R_umplestiltskin was a coward. The Dark One is afraid of no one. I am inferior to no one. I will bend my neck to no one._

He studied his eyes in the mirror. Pupils that seemed to never contract or expand in the light were surrounded by soft, golden brown irises. What should have been the whites of his eyes, were more of a dirty yellowish color. Reptilian. The extreme contrasts were more off-putting than his scaly skin.

Magic was not entirely static in nature. A spell performed while turning a hand one way acted slightly differently than when you turned it another. A potion with slightly varying levels of ingredients could perform the same function, but different levels of intensity or aftereffects. The Curse needed to be carefully written so that he got everything that he wanted. And nothing that he didn't. To accomplish that, he wanted, needed, power: more power than any who had come before. And knowledge, not just of how to write a curse, but how to determine which words would give him the exact results he required.

"Simply to have, to hold, power is not sufficient. What good is there in being powerful if no one knows about it? If no one respects you for it? If no one is scared of you from it?" The title 'The Dark One' elicited fear across the realm. But the name 'Rumplestiltskin' did not have quite the same effect. I_ need to work on that. _

Intimidation. It had worked on the tailor. He thought back to what had made the man the most nervous. The more deliberate his movements, the closer he got, the twitchier the man became. Using magic seemed to make the man jump as well. But the combination of lowering his voice and stepping right up to the man, that had worked the best.

Soldiers used their swords, armor, horses, and the fact that they were physically stronger than most peasants to intimidate. Kings and queens intimidated with the power of their armies, the threat of their executioners. Up until a few months ago, Rumplestiltskin intimidated by showing his dagger and using magic to kill. But he had been able to get get exactly what he wanted for this castle without killing. T_he glazier doesn't count._ And he had a new set of clothes from just body movements, voice changes, a bit of harmless magic, and seeing the future. Was that all he needed?

Rumplestiltskin, the Coward, needed to be seared from the public mind. Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, the most powerful man in all the kingdoms, would rise like a phoenix from the ashes.

"The Coward is dead. Long live the Dark One."

The best way to create such a persona was to do some research. _Knowledge is a form of power. _What made people excited, scared. What moved them to commit extreme acts of bravery or cowardice or atrocities. How to manipulate them. How to use words and actions to lure them in.

He placed a message with the local bookseller with instructions to send him books. History, literature, fables, science, geography, mathematics, law. He read everything sent to him and required more. Books about heroes and fainting maidens, sword fights on horseback and the high seas. Tales of kings who lived long ago. He even read books on the peerage and discovered just how intertwined the noble houses of the realm were. He filled bookcase after bookcase with tomes of all sizes.

And when his eyes needed a break from reading, he'd cast a glamour spell on himself and wander among the dock workers, memorizing the overly elaborate gestures of the sea captains and the merchants who traded with them. He walked through markets studying the men and women hawking their goods, listening to them bargain and haggle and connive to get the best price for their products. He mingled amongst the nobility copying the way the men pranced around, how they danced and bowed, and how they used their clothing, especially their cloaks and short swords, as physical extensions of themselves. He examined the women maneuvering in their voluminous dresses, the language of their fans, and the frozen smiles on their faces that could not quite hide that some of them despaired of their almost useless lives. He nursed warm ale in taverns watching the drunks fight each other over the favors of an unwashed bar maid or an imaginary slur or try to enunciate their words in a vain attempt to prove they weren't about to pass out. And he stood silent and invisible in the insane asylums watching the mad men gibber quietly to themselves or scream incoherent obscenities at the guards and other inmates.

And with that knowledge, the Coward transformed into the Dark One. This Rumplestiltskin did not merely walk; he strode proudly or strutted, heels clicking on the floor. He danced and slithered about his opponents. He practiced making slow deliberate movements interspersed with abrupt transports to the other side of the room, the other side of his opponent, the branch of a tree or the top of a table. His hands and arms became extensions of his voice, gestures that articulated just as clearly as the words he spoke. He practiced different accents, different pitches and tones. A high pitch for making a deal. A low, harsh whisper to seal it. A flat nasally voice for warning his opponent to not be stupid. Forced giggles when the opponent did exactly what Rumplestiltskin foretold or when he got exactly what he wanted.

He kept an eye on his near future to see who would come next. What they wanted. And what he could get from them. Interestingly enough, the more the Coward evolved into the Dark One, the more people came to the Dark Castle. They feared him, but not enough to overcome their wants. For the most part they were peasants trying to improve their meager lives. They requested the most mundane of magical items. A knife that wouldn't dull. An axe that could fell a tree with one blow. A rope that never frayed. A sheep's pen that wolves could not enter. A bridle that would tame any horse. Magical items to make work easier, less costly, less time consuming.

A few came with more absurd requests. It wasn't exactly his fault if they got exactly what they wanted. Or deserved.

Like the daughter of a tea merchant who brought an entire ship's cargo of tea to trade for her continuing good looks. "All my life, I've been told I look as beautiful as a china doll. But I'm 25 now. My looks are going to fade. I'll lose my teeth. My hair will turn gray and straggly. My eyes will film over. My skin will wrinkle. And I will have nothing. Please keep me looking as beautiful as a china doll for the rest of my life," she begged. "Are you sure, Dearie?" he queried. "Oh, yes!" A cloud of purple smoke encircled the woman; when it cleared, where she had stood was a china doll in her image. As agreed, he spelled the doll so that the porcelain would never chip or crack, the paint would never fade, and the hair stay sleek and luscious forever. Then he put her on a shelf in an unused bedroom and closed the door. In a more practical vein, he put a preservation spell on the tea so that it would still be good for years to come.

Or the knight who said that was trying to be a good landlord to his share croppers. "Their rent isn't due for another month. But I've run very low on funds, and there isn't a tournament until after the rent comes in. There hasn't been a kidnapping or even a dragon to hunt down for me to earn some money. I don't want to have to collect the rent early, but a man's got to eat. If you could just, you know, give me a spell or something. I don't require much, just enough food to live on until the rents come in." Rumplestiltskin didn't even wait to hear what the man would offer in return. "I will craft a spell so that you will receive enough food to live on. But only until the rent is due." The knight, feeling very charitable now that he was going to be fed without inconveniencing his tenants, agreed. Rumplestiltskin waved his hands, grabbed the now squawking chicken/knight by the legs and delivered it with several bags of feed, to an old widow with firm instructions to keep it fed and happy. At least until the rent came due.

Rumplestiltskin had settled into a new routine: read, people watch, and make deals. It didn't leave much room for learning new magic. He hadn't yet even begun to learn how to write curses. Frustration set in. Something had to change. And change it did.

It was over a year after the tailor had made his deal. The second snow fall of the season was slush on the ground when Rumplestiltskin had his first encounter with another magic user.


	5. Cooper

Twilight was settling over the village as Rumplestiltskin slogged through the slush heading for a tavern. Snow and ice had blocked the road leading to the Dark Castle several weeks before and, even though he refused to admit it out loud, the castle's silence was a bit deafening. He had become used to the weekly, and sometimes daily, knocks on the outer doors from the unfortunate souls who thought that a bit of magic would help them. After these weeks of solitude, he was ready for a night of drinking watered down ale and mystery meat stew. _Rat or squirrel tonight_? If he was lucky, his bread would contain only a few weevils. And with a lot of luck, the bar maids would be pretty. At the very least, the bar fights would be entertaining. If not, he'd use magic to spice things up.

Down the road a bit, someone had lit a small bonfire. An old man was entertaining a group of children by creating hand shadows against the wall of a building. The shadow creations were incredible! The bird seemed to be really flying; he could almost hear the dog bark. Rumplestiltskin shivered as a cold breeze wound its way around the back of his neck. And he shivered again as he realized that the man's hands were directing the shadows, not creating them.

Magic.

He'd never seen anyone using magic other than Zoso. His plans for the tavern immediately forgotten, he placed an invisibility spell on himself and another spell on his boots so that he would leave no tracks. He waited and watched.

Two hours passed before the fire burned too low to make good shadows and the children dispersed. By then Rumplestiltskin was shivering from the cold, and his feet had long since passed the 'starting to feel wet in his boots' stage and were now in the "do I have icicles for toes' stage. The old man kicked ice and slush over the last of the embers and walked away. Rumplestiltskin followed, wincing as his toes started to regain feeling. They had traveled for maybe 100 feet when the man called out, "I know you're there, you know. Take off that spell; it's okay. I've got some stew on the fire. Come along and get warmed up." Rumplestiltskin stopped walking. _How does he know I'm here?_ "You've got some kind o hiding spell on you? I can't see you, but I sure can feel you."

Rumplestiltskin removed the spells. Hidden by his cloak, he was just a shadowy figure. "How did you know?"

"Like I said. Can feel it. Pricklin the back o me neck. Can always tell when someone's magickin. Dint your master teach you nothin?"

"I didn't have a master."

"Oh. Well, most of us that I've met can do the accident parts, but needed a master for the on purpose stuff. You must be real smart like if you did your learnin all by yourselves. Well, come along. I'm cold. You must be too." Together they walked to a small cottage at the edge of the village.

The man opened the door; coals smoldering in the fireplace instantly became bright and cheery flames heating the cottage quite nicely. "Take a set," the man ordered. "Name's Cooper on account a me dad was a cooper and his dad and so on. Me son's a cooper, too. Grandson, probly. I don't get ta see him so much." Rumplestiltskin hung his cloak on a hook by the door and sat on one of the chairs while Cooper filled bowls with stew. Cooper paled as he saw the scaly skin, but he didn't stop but he was doing. "Me? I was apprentacin 'till me dad saw me makin a barrel no hands. That was the end o that, there. But me dad? He dint hold nuthin gainst me. Got me some proper learnin and all." Cooper collapsed into the other chair. " So, Dark One. You here ta kill me or what? Thought your former self was gonna kill me a whiles back. But he was on a leash; couldn't do no magic lessen that Duke o his said so."

Rumplestiltskin took a hesitant bite of the stew. It was delicious and the perfect temperature for eating and warming oneself from the inside out. "Yes, I'm the Dark One." He bowed from his seat, "Rumplestiltskin at your service. But why do you think I'm here to kill you?"

Cooper looked at his bowl in his lap. "I suppose you're here on account o me books. You want em. Heard lots o stories bout you wantin books." He looked up at Rumplestiltskin, with a rueful smile on his face. "Though it was hard to fancy a dark wizard like yourself wantin books on fairy tales. The fae, perhaps. I can see that. Don't want ta get on the wrong side o the fae. Nasty critters they are." His face became stern looking, "But see, you can't have me books. Least not till I'm dead. I got a nice protectin spell on em. And, no, I'm not takin it off so as you can steal em."

The two men ate their meals in uncomfortable silence after that. _Obviously, he's talking about spell books. I could use more spell books. I've memorized mine. And written some new ones. But what is in these books that I don't know? Do they contain information on how to create a curse? Why won't he just give them to me so I don't have to kill him?_

When they were done eating, Cooper collected the bowls and spoons and brought them to a pan to be washed. He sighed. "You can go now, Dark One. The books are hidden in the eaves. Once you've kilt me, they'll show up." He looked up at Rumplestiltskin with tears and hope shining in his eyes. "Can, can you wait till I'm sleepin? I'm thinkin that I'd prefer to not know when I'm goin."

Rumplestiltskin argued, "It doesn't have to be like this. You don't have to die. You can just give me the books; let me make a copy of them. You could teach me what you know."

"Nah," Cooper sighed. "Don't you know nothin? I do light magic. I can't teach you me spells! If you're born with the magic, you can do light or dark. But you can't do both." He firmed his voice. "You can leave now. I'm tired." The fire died down to glowing coals, and Cooper shuffled off to a pallet in the corner. Rumplestiltskin glared at Cooper, furious at the man. _Why are you so eager to die, old man?_ But he did as Cooper asked; he grabbed his cloak off the hook and left, slamming the door hard behind him. _Stupid man. I need those books. They could show me how to create a portal. Or how to grow more beans. Who knows what those books could give to me? If you'd just give them to me, I wouldn't have to kill you! I'd even be willing to leave them here; I could visit every day or week and learn from them. But no, you want to keep them to yourself. You want me to kill you. Foolish, foolish man. _

He recognized, now, the feeling of someone doing magic. It was like a cool breeze crossing the back of his neck. Cooper was casting a spell of some sort. Rumplestiltskin cast magic of his own. There had to be a way to break the protection spell and get those books. All night he stood in the street while new snow coated his cloak. Spell after spell, he cast trying to break through the enchantment. As the sky started to change from the bluish-black of night to the pink and orange light of false dawn, Rumplestiltskin gave up. He walked back into the cottage and stood over the sleeping man. "You should have just given me your books," he whispered. Then he clenched his fist, stopping Cooper's heart. Three books fell from the rafters onto the floor. Rumplestiltskin gathered them up and in a cloud of smoke transported himself to the Dark Castle.


	6. Resolved Once Again

Rumplestiltskin was exhausted. Between standing in the snow and slush all night and casting spell after spell, he needed some warm food and a good sleep. He caressed the cover of one of the spell books. Sleep would have to wait. He changed into dry clothes, summoned a pot of tea, settled into his chair, and began to read.

Most of the spells in the new books were ones he already had, or slight variations thereof. He practiced and memorized the new spells. And with the new knowledge came a renewal of purpose. _I'm not here to help peasants. I'm here to find Bae. I haven't found out how to create a curse, never mind figure out what I need for my curse! I don't know who is going to cast the Curse or who will break it. I need to know! Where is he? 'A world without magic.' How do you get there? How do you live there if there's no magic? _

His journeys through towns and villages changed. No longer was he interested in people watching, nor desirous of anything remotely resembling companionship. He was waiting for that cold breeze on the back of his neck; he was searching for magic. And when he found wizards or witches, they either gave him their spell and potion books outright or they died. In either case, he took their books, their magical possessions, anything that might some day be useful to his quest.

He searched out rare and magical objects. Penitents seeking magic assistance for themselves were requested to obtain something priceless for him first. A looking glass that allowed its holder to view anyone alive or dead. A flying carpet. Bespelled jewelry. Treasures from other worlds, other realms. Anything and everything that would give him power or insight into what other realms might be like.

At the Dark Castle, he read, practiced, memorized, studied. The tower frequently filled with strange odors, noises and lights. Rooms in the Dark Castle became cluttered with magical items. He had to create a vault to contain some of these magical items. This vault had no doors or windows. No cracks in the walls. No way to enter, and more importantly, no way to exit.

He looked to future year after future year, trying to find the one who would cast his Curse. One hundred years into the future, two hundred years, almost three hundred years! And there she was. The raven haired woman he had seen on the day the seer died. He watched her frustration as the Curse failed. Smiled as she tore the still beating heart from her father's chest. Joined her in ecstasy as the Curse finally worked, as purple smoke engulfed the Enchanted Forest.

Her name was Regina: The Evil Queen.

_Who else will I need?_ Images flickered quickly in front of him, some too fast to make out clearly. A man with a purple hat, a pregnant woman, kings, queens, a woman in blue. But then they slowed down, and settled on two women and one man. Another raven haired woman, younger than Regina, she was dressed all in white leather and carrying a bow. Yet another black haired woman, dressed in a red ball gown and spinning, of all things, straw into gold. _Sisters? Mother and daughters? Could the three of them be part of a family? _A sandy-brown haired man who was both a shepherd and a prince. _How is that possible?_

Those images faded to be replaced by a single moving image. Long, curly, chestnut brown hair spilled down her back and covered her face. She was dressed in a golden ball gown, but the hem was stained, ripped and covered in dirt. She lay on a crude bed clutching a white pillow, in what looked an awful lot like a cell in his dungeon. He could hear her crying, see tear stains on the pillow, her body shuddering as she sobbed. There was a clicking noise, like a door being opened, and she sat up, brushing the hair and tears from her face. Rumplelstiltskin stopped breathing. B_eautiful_. The most exquisite of sapphires would pale next to the brilliant blue of her eyes; he could look into them for hours. Her oval face was perfection itself, just the right size for him to rest their foreheads together, rub his nose tenderly against hers before he tilted his head and captured her mouth with his. Her pink lips looked softer than rose petals, and her breath would be just as sweet and intoxicating as... _What the hell!_? He found himself breathing heavily, fully aroused just by an image, a fantasy of an image. He banished it away, and began pacing, trying to regain control of his body.

He had never felt like this. Never. Physical bliss, yes, he had achieved that with Milah. Fumbling around in the dark on their pallet, the amazing sensations of a woman's skin warm and soft against his. Joining with her, reaching heaven while she cried in pain. Too ignorant for far too long, the both of them, to realize that she could have touched paradise as well. And when they discovered that she, too, could be aroused, when afterwards they both lay panting, entwined in each other's arms, boneless and sated, even those splendors paled in comparison to what he was feeling now.

_Who are you Beauty? Are you my temptation? Are you what will distract me? I need to get to Bae; you cannot be allowed to interfere! You will not weaken my resolve. No wonder I lock you in a dungeon! I will make you clean and scrub every inch of this castle. I will make you toil from dawn to dusk and rot your nights away in that cell until you are worn and haggard. Until your skin is bruised and callused, and covered in burns and sores. Until your eyes are washed out from fatigue. Until you are no longer beautiful. Until you are no longer a threat. Then I will cast you out as an example to all that I will not be thwarted. Nothing, not even you, Beauty, will stop me from being with my boy again. Nothing._


	7. Hook, Line, and Sinker

The visions of what was going to happen before the Curse could be enacted were getting complicated. The three black haired women were related. Regina's mother, Cora, was the lady in red. And since it was Rumplestiltskin himself who had taught her how to spin straw into gold, he had had to figure out for himself how to do it first. So now a basket of straw lay next to the basket of wool in the great hall, and coils of spun gold were scattered throughout the workroom. The woman in white was Regina's step-daughter, Snow White. Regina's continual failures to kill Snow would be the reason Regina cast the Curse. The shepherd-prince, named David but called James or Charming, was Snow's husband. David had a twin brother, the original James, who needed to die, or Snow wouldn't meet and marry David. And Snow and David had to get married or they would not have a child who would become the savior. _And those are just the really important players in the Curse. There have to be 30 or so bit players. __I'm going to have to write all this down. I'm sure there's a wall in the castle big enough to contain the series of events._

But for now, Rumplestiltskin sat in a seedy tavern, waiting. He had received a cryptic message from some gutter rat asking him to be here. He had been to all sorts of taverns in his life. Most were simply filthy from the dirt tracked in on boots and tables sticky from spilled food, ale, and vomit. But this tavern added in an extra level of specialness; they served peanuts. Shells, full and empty, were everywhere. _This place is truely disgusting._ But when one dealt with rats, one must be willing to wade into the sewers. He waved away a bar maid for the third time. _No, I'm not eating or drinking anything here._ He picked apart a peanut shell, dropping the pieces onto the table, outwardly pretending great interest in it.

In reality, while his peripheral vision scanned the room, he was watching _her_, the woman in gold. Beauty. She was young in this vision, a child, dressed completely in black. She stared glassy eyed at an open grave. She flinched as each shovelful of dirt dropped onto the coffin. But she didn't cry. Her right hand reached up and clutched at her necklace.

A man wearing a floppy knitted red cap approached. _Hello Rat_. "It really is you. The Dark One. In the flesh," The Rat sat down. "Or whatever that is."

Beauty reached up her other hand to hold the hand of the older man next to her; he shook it off. She squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lips to keep them from quivering. _You can look as sad and pitiful as you like__, Beauty, but it's not going to change anything. _"You've gone to a lot of trouble to meet me. Ya better hope I agree it is worth. My. Time." A tear trickled down one cheek; Beauty blinked fast, like she was attempting to keep more from escaping.

The Rat spoke quickly. "I've heard that you've been looking for something, and as luck would have it, I'm a man who trades in hard to find objects." Beauty knuckled the wetness from her cheek. Yet another bar maid approached with a mug of ale. _Go. Away._ She placed the mug in front of The Rat, who as she left, cupped his fingers to his mouth as if to prevent her from reading his lips and whispered, "Like a bean." A second tear trickled down Beauty's face. "A magic bean." Rumplestiltskin banished Beauty's image. _A bean. Like I had that took us to Neverland? I won't need a curse in 300 years, I could go tonight!_ "That can transport you between worlds."

Rumplestiltskin dropped the peanut shell and looked up at The Rat. He carefully leaned across the table. _Mustn't scare him away_. "I've been told," he said slowly, "that they no longer exist in this land." _The blind seer was wrong! I will escape my fate; I won't need a curse or a savior. This bean will get me to Bae!_

The Rat was excited. "Not in this land, no. But the ships that dock here often return from far off lands with treasures they don't always understand." He tapped the table to emphasize his point.

"And yet you do," Rumplestiltskin sneered. _What would a rat know of magical treasures? He has no magic himself!_

"It's my job! As is knowing the rumors of who might pay the highest price for said treasures."

"And what rumors could they be?" _Let's see what this guttersnipe knows._

"That... you were once a great coward. But that you became the Dark One to overcome that and to, ah, protect the son you, ah, lost despite all ugh!"

_Enough!_ Rumplestiltskin clenched his fingers, magically choking The Rat. "It's not nice to spread rumors! The bean: where is it." _Where is it?_

The Rat clutched at his throat. "I don't have it," he gasped. _Of course, you don't_. "But I can get it. I swear" Rumplestilskin released the man's throat from his grip. The Rat sputtered and coughed into his fist. "You haven't heard my price."

"I spin straw into gold; money shouldn't be a problem." _You can have whatever you want if you get me a bean._

"Oh, but I don't want money. I want eternal life."

Rumplestiltskin let out a childish giggle._ "_Only the Dark One has life eternal." He changed his voice to sound like a marketplace seller haggling over his wares. "Tell you what, my son. What I can do, what about... youth? Spin the clock back, till you're a little boy again."_  
_

The Rat nodded, "Close enough. Deal."

Rumplestiltskin warned him, "But remember - you fail to deliver, I spin the clock forward, and turn you into... dust." _And I will enjoy watching you die._

The Rat looked scared, but he nodded, "Thank you, thank you." And left.

The bar maid walked back towards Rumplestiltskin. _Do you not understand? I'm not eating here!_ "Are you sure you don't want anything?" He was just about to say no, again, when he heard a familiar voice talking about a 'scurvy crew'. He looked across the room to see a pirate swaggering across the room. _Killian_. "You know, I suddenly find myself quite thirsty."


	8. Jason

Weeks had passed since Rumplestiltskin had failed to get the bean, had let Killian live. Since he had held Milah's cheating heart in his fist and crushed it into dust. His own fate, it seemed, could not be avoided. But it was possible to have conflicting fates, as evidenced by the woman in the carriage now starting up the road to the Dark Castle. She and her husband were going to die, and quite soon. But her son, still in her womb, had two futures. In one, he died alongside his parents, only a few hours old. In the other, he became a king.

Beauty appeared. _Leave me alone. I didn't ask for you._ He banished the image only to have it pop right back. He sighed. _Yours__ is the only vision I cannot control._ She was wearing her golden gown while scrubbing the Great Hall's floor. And singing. _Why are you singing? You should be devastated! I'm ruining your pampered little life and you're singing?_ A noise startled her and she spun on her knees knocking the bucket of wash water, splashing herself from waist to knees and spilling the rest on the floor. Her long skirts thirstily soaked up the suds and water. She hung her head, her body shaking. _That's right, Beauty, cry. _He watched as his future self appeared in the room. "It's tea tie... Is everything all right in here?" Beauty stood up, still shaking. She raised her face to look at the future Rumplestiltskin; she was... laughing? "Just taking a bath" she joked. She tried to pluck her soaked skirts from her legs, but they insisted on clinging no matter how she pulled. His mouth went dry. She wasn't wearing a petticoat or crinolines under her dress. The wet fabric outlined her legs. Every last inch of them. His fingertips tingled from wanting to explore those curves, to feel if they were as soft and smooth as they looked. His future self was apparently fighting similar desires, as he was clenching his jaw and studying the ceiling instead of her legs. His future self waggled his fingers; the dress dried out to cover her properly and the wash bucket filled with fresh water and soap. "I just... ah. I'll leave you to your work."

"You can stay," she replied. "I've finished the area around your wheel; it's almost dry over there. I'll go make the tea." _She has no idea. She really has no idea of how she affects me. _The future Rumplestiltskin shook his head, still investigating the ceiling. "No. No, I'll, um, come back later. When everything is dry. You can bring my tea to my workroom."

There was a sound of the carriage entering the area in front of the Dark Castle. Beauty vanished. _You come and go as you please, now?_

The woman stepped from her carriage, and raised a hand to stop her escorts from helping her. Rumplestiltskin transported himself to the front entry. As she approached the outer doors, he swung them wide. "Who are you? And why are you interrupting my work?" he demanded.

"My name is Polly. I come from a kingdom far away; I have travelled many days to reach you. I have been sent to ask you a question."

Rumplestiltskin spun on one heel and strode through the doors into the great hall. Polly followed, and at his gesture, sat in the chair by the fire. He sat at his spinning wheel and began spinning straw into gold. "You've been sent to me? That's a new one."

"My husband is king of our country; as oldest son it was his birthright. His brother is angry and devious and trying to take the throne from us. There is war within our kingdom. Many people have been killed. When I became with child, I consulted the Oracle to see how the war would end."

"She's a fake," he muttered.

"That may be, but she told me that I will die; my husband will die. Pelias will become king. That cannot be changed, and I have accepted my fate. I am queen; I must be brave for my people. But the Oracle also said that my son would die with me unless you help."

"And just why should I care if your child lives or dies, Dearie? He is nothing to me." He peered through the wheel at Polly.

"Jason, his name will be Jason. And you should care because he is innocent! Far too many innocent lives have been taken already. It has to stop. This feud is between his father and his uncle. He should not have to pay with his life! His only wrong doing will have been being born to the man who loses rather than to the man who wins!

"There are tales about you, Dark One. Tales that you stopped the Ogre Wars so that children would not have to fight. So that no more innocents would have to die. Can you honestly tell me that the lives of some children are more worthy of saving than others? I would have saved the children in my country if I could. My life will be payment for my failure." She slid off the chair and sank to her knees. "I beg of you. Save my child. Save Jason. I will do anything for you, give you everything I have, if only you will help him."

He stopped spinning and snapped, "Get off your knees, you foolish woman." Polly started to stand up, over balanced and fell back down. He transported to her side and helped her back into the chair.

"Here's what you're going to do," he said in his haggler's voice. He waved a hand and pulled a red scarf out of the air, and changed his voice to a more serious one. "When the birthing pains become very bad, and you need to scream, tie this around your head so that it covers your mouth and nose. It will capture all sounds. You will give the child to the wisest man you know; tell him to raise the child to be a scholar. When they are safely gone from your home, remove the scarf and your screams will come out from it. Your brother-in-law will think that you are only now about to give birth. You will wrap this," he waved his other arm and produced a bluish-pink, life-like doll the size of a new born baby, "in the birthing cloths. You and your midwife must convince everyone that the child was stillborn. If you are not convincing enough, Pelias will go after the child and kill him. If you are successful, he will only kill you and the midwife. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "And your payment?"

"I will collect from your son when he is old enough."

"My thanks, Dark One. I will not forget your kindness for the rest of my life." She wrapped the doll in the scarf, concealing its shape, and left. He sank into the chair she vacated as Beauty reappeared. She was wearing her golden gown while scrubbing the Great Hall's floor. And singing. _Go away, Beauty. This isn't going to work._

Almost five years later, Pelias came to the Dark Castle. Rumplestiltskin was slouching sideways in his chair. Left arm curled up and around his head, left knee slung over the opposite armrest. Right arm crossing his stomach, and right leg sprawled at an angle. He stared at the ceiling, affecting complete disinterest in the man pacing before him. "I am rightful king of my country. My wife has born me daughters, and I am assured of sons. But the Oracle."

"She's still a fraud," Rumplestiltskin interrupted.

"What?" Pelias looked confused at the comment, but continued. "The Oracle foretold that my successor will be of my lineage, but not my son, nor even my son's son. What must I do to prevent this usurper?"

"Are you sure your successor is a boy, Dearie? That would fit your Oracle's prophecy... Or maybe your daughter's son will be your heir."

"No!" Pelias yelled. "No, my heir will be my son, or his son. Not a woman," he spat the last word.

"My, my. Temper, Dearie," Rumplestilstkin cautioned in his high voice. "I will tell you what you want to hear, but there is a price."

"Name it."

"Your wife has a niece? Medea? You will send her to me on her 18th birthday."

"Never! I will not subject my family to your evil whims, not even a girl."

Rumplestiltskin sat up straight. "What kind of a monster do you think I am?" He put on the most innocent looking face he could manage. "You think I could be interested in the charms of a child?" He became more serious. "No, I require a servant. Someone to cook and clean for me. Not warm my bed. And after all, 18 years old, spoiled rotten, noble women are expensive to maintain, always wanting new dresses and baubles. Send her to me for two years. It will be good for her, teach her some humility... Do we have a deal?"

Pelias thought for a few moments. "Yes."

"Good!" Rumplestiltskin squealed and giggled. "There is one who could take the throne from you. A man wearing one sandal. But you can make him... go away," he fluttered his fingers. "All you have to do is set him on a quest to find the Golden Fleece. And since that doesn't exist outside of legend, your throne will be secure."

Thirteen years later, Rumplestiltskin stood at the bank of a river watching Medea step into a boat. She was turning 18 in a few days and on her way to be the servant of the Dark One. He made a gust of wind rock the boat, knocking Medea unconscious and sending her overboard. A young sailor jumped in after her, but in the process of saving Medea, he lost a sandal. The sailor was, of course, Jason. And predictably, he and Medea fell head over heels in love at first sight. Jason and Medea went to her uncle, asking for permission to marry. Pelias, scared upon seeing that Jason had only one sandal, agreed so long as Medea fulfilled her two years at the Dark Castle, and Jason brought back the Golden Fleece.

Medea was a horrible servant. Her idea of cleaning was half-heartedly whisking a broom across the floor. Her cooking was inedible. And she whined. Constantly. Jason, raised as a scholar, knew that the Golden Fleece was not just a legend, and, moreover, he knew how to obtain it.

And so two years later, just as Medea arrived home, Jason returned with the Fleece. At their wedding, an old courtier, Rumplestiltskin in disguise, remarked upon how much Jason resembled the old king. This sparked a fight between Pelias and Jason; Jason won and became the new king.

And Rumplestiltskin finally collected on Polly's debt; he took the Golden Fleece back to the Dark Castle to be put on display.

Rumplestiltskin sprawled in his chair, the fire the only light. He sipped a glass of wine, watching the way the Fleece glowed as the flames danced. At his feet lay a book, where he had carelessly thrown it. A stray breeze rustled the pages distracting him from his thoughts. On the page he read 'Make sure Medea falls into water. Jason to rescue. Lose the sandal.' A stronger breeze whipped the pages; when they died, he read 'Teach Cora to spin.'

He raised his glass to the sheep's skin. "A wall would not have been big enough. A diary, though, is perfect." He laughed and drained his cup. "A diary of what I need to do instead of what I have done." He leaned over and picked up the book, rifling through the pages filled with cramped writing. He frowned as he stopped at an entry: 'Go to King Maurice. Stop Ogre Wars.' He ran his fingers slowly across the letters, wishing he could erase them. _I'm only a man, Beauty. A selfish man. I won't be able to resist you. _


	9. A Dream is a Wish

Rumplestiltskin woke up, stiff and sore, sitting on the floor of his workroom. Fifty years of birthdays. Two hundred something more to go. All that remained of the candle he had lit earlier for Baefile's birthday was a puddle of wax. A bleary eyed look at the clock told him that there were still a few hours before dawn. He transported himself to his bed and tried to fall asleep.

He called up an image of Beauty wearing his favorite ball gown. The bodice was a dusky pink made of some shiny material. It clung tightly to her body from her breasts down past her hips, leaving her shoulders, arms, and much of her back bare. The skirt was layers of lighter pink in some filmy material that fluttered around her as she danced. Her hair was caught up in a pile of curls on her head with one strand left to hang down by her left ear and curling on her breast. _So beautiful._ She just looked so happy to be dancing. Her partners moved her through the dance, but she was so ethereal, she made them look wooden. They picked her up and twirled her around; she laughed in delight. Then the Oaf was bowing to her. The Oaf had all the charms a noble woman could swoon over: brawny arms, a non-broken nose, hair, tall, the ability to sit a horse, and wield a sword. And he could dance. He whispered something in her ear, Beauty nodded, and they left the room arm in arm. Cozy. They exited onto a balcony where the Oaf pointed at stars, naming them. He placed a hand on Beauty's bare back, a mark of ownership to any males looking._ I really hate this part. _Then he turned her so that she was face to chest with him and he leaned down to kiss her. Rumplestiltskin smiled to see that she didn't seem to particularly enjoy it. She didn't close her eyes; there were no 'heaving bosoms'. Her hands were still at her sides, not curled around his neck. She actually stepped away from the Oaf when he released her. And after the Oaf left her alone on the balcony, she swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. _Good_.

It was at this point that Rumplestiltskin realized something was wrong with the vision. Normally, she just returned to the dance. But this time she asked, "Who are you? I've never seen you at Court before."

He looked down at himself and saw that he was normal looking, no scaly skin, no dragon leather. He was wearing a royal blue coat covered in medals, a sash, and white pants. Princely. _A dream; I'm dreaming. _"I'm the man who would take you from this."

She laughed. "I'm to marry Gaston, you know. Nothing is official yet, but he and Father are negotiating it. Father is really set upon this match; I don't think he'd back out at this point."

"I will take you from all that you know, all that is familiar. You will be alone, friendless. You will devote your life with me to making me comfortable. And in return, I will give you nothing but time," he whispered.

She turned away, leaning on her forearms on the balcony wall looking at the stars. "I won't go with you."

He stepped next to her, and leaned backwards, facing the ballroom. "It's not really your decision, Dearie." He turned his head to gaze at her profile, outlined by the moonlight. "Don't be fooled by appearances; I'm a powerful man. Powerful enough and selfish enough to take what I want. And no one," he hissed, "No one can stop me." He made his voice lighter, almost jovial. "And what I want, second-most in all the worlds, is you."

"You want me," she snapped, "You don't even know me. And I don't know you. Who. Are. You."

He ignored her question. "Shall I tell you your futures? I forsee two of them. In one, you marry Gaston, bear him a son. Your doctors and midwives will tell you that you should not have another, as this one almost killed you. Gaston will not listen, and within a year, you bear him a second child. Neither you nor the child survive.

"In the other, you come to live with me. You come to me with nothing but the clothes on your back. And you leave the same way. What you make of your life while you are in my possession and after you leave is entirely up to you."

"Are your choices always so..." She turned to look at him. "My life has always been one of convenience. I am convenient for my father. I will be convenient for Gaston. Or for you. What a choice!" She laughed despondently and turned back to look at the stars. "To be Gaston's broodmare or your slave."

"Never a slave, Dearie." Rumplestiltskin straightened and turned so that he was standing close behind her. His chest lightly brushed her back. He slowly reached up to wrap his hands around her upper arms, her skin so soft and warm against his palms. She stiffened at his touch, but didn't try to pull away. He spoke into her ear, soft and low. "You think I don't know who you are? I know you better than you know yourself. I have forseen you for the last 50 years. When you come to me, and you will choose me, never doubt that. When you come to me, you will discover just what kind of woman you are. Believe me, though: you are not cut out to be any man's broodmare. And you will be anything but convenient to me." He bent his head, letting his lips brush the curve of her neck. She let her head fall back to his shoulder, giving him better access to her neck. He interspersed his words with small kisses to her neck and shoulder. "You are beautiful on the outside, but even more beautiful on the inside. You are witty, intelligent, kind, loving. You alone might be able to persuade me to change my plans. I won't let you, though. I think that's why you leave."

"Don't you know?"

"I could look, but I don't want to. I can't bear to watch myself send you away. Nor can I bear to see you willingly walk away from me."

"What plans?"

"Hmm?"

"You said I could persuade you to change them."

"Oh. I lost my son. I need to get to him, to tell him I love him. Tell him I'm sorry."

She spun in his arms. His hands slid from her shoulders to the small of her back. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"You needn't be. I will get back to him." And because it was a dream, he pulled her flush against him and kissed her. And because it was his dream, she entwined her fingers in his hair and kissed him back.

**Thank you to Jokermask18 and Strummer Pink for your reviews.**


	10. Curses

Rumplestiltskin woke up still stiff from his earlier stint of sleeping on the floor. And uncomfortable in other ways after his dream about Beauty.

After 50 odd years, he was the most power practitioner of magic in the realm; he was quite possibly more powerful than any previous Dark One. But he had not managed to write a single curse. In all his searching, he had not found a single book on the subject nor a witch or wizard who admitted to having made one. Used? Yes. Many of them had used a curse or two. But to create one was not as simple as writing a spell, or making a potion.

So after breakfast, he drank a potion of good fortune, thought about curses, and transported himself. Right into a mud pit. A rather large pen of ankle deep mud. A very smelly pig pen and it was probably not all mud he was standing in. A sow longer than he was tall was snorting gently as she suckled her piglets. _This is good fortune?_

"Oy!" yelled a voice. Rumplestiltskin ignored the voice and slogged through the mud to the nearest fence. _These boots are ruined_ he mourned. The voice, however, was not ignoring him. It spoke quite rapidly and loudly in a language Rumplestiltskin had never heard before. As Rumplestiltskin climbed the fence he caught a glimpse of the man yelling and nearly fell back into the pig pen. The man was motley colored. Not his clothing: his skin. Every bit of exposed skin was covered in different patches of color. His nose was bright green, one eye encircled by a patch of yellow, an ear was black with red dots, and so on.

"Ah, so you're my good fortune," Rumplestilskin said as he finished climbing over the fence. He started a spell to determine what exactly had been done to the man when he found himself suddenly outside of a hut in the woods. "What the hell?" So much for being the most powerful sorcerer if he can be transported against his will!

There was an old woman sitting outside the hut whittling. She said something unintelligible in that other language. Rumplestiltskin performed a translation spell. "Who are you," she said sternly, "to come and interrupt my work?"

"My name is Rumplestiltskin. You brought me here, Dearie," he replied.

"Not that. The farmer. You were doing something to the farmer."

"I was trying to figure out what had been done to him. I've never seen that curse before. I wanted to see how it worked."

"Proud of that one, I am. Took me two months to create it. Such a mess. But he wouldn't stop ogling the girls. Had to do something to stop it."

"You know how to create curses," he spoke quietly and slowly. The witch just stared at him. "Teach me," he begged.

The witch stopped whittling. "It's not a matter of teaching. Curses are hard. You have to have the right spell, the right potion, the right words, and of course, the way to break it. Most curses take the lazy way out; true love does conquer all, and that includes curses. But a good curse requires something particularly special in order to break in place of true love.

"Let's say you want to curse someone to have elephant ears. You need a spell to change the ears to look like an elephant's. Then a potion to enlarge the ears to the correct size. The words force both spell and potion to work together and at the same time. And then, perhaps the cursed has to sit in a pile of elephant dung to return his ears to normal."

Rumplestilskin was perplexed. "I don't understand 'the words' part. You mean the spell?"

"No, I mean the words, how you bind the spell and potion together. That's the hard part. That's why there are so few who can write curses. Because usually the person who creates the curse isn't the same person who casts it. So you have to account for all variations in potion strength and spell usage. And I do mean all variations. Every. Single. Possibility. Because a curse needs to work exactly the same no matter who is casting it. A curse writer needs to understand how witches and wizards might do things differently. And you have to write all of those variations into the curse to make it work.

"If you write a 20 year sleeping curse, you don't want the cursed waking up after only 5, do you? Nightshade picked at a full moon is more potent than when it's picked at a quarter moon. Your curse may be used centuries after you're dead. So you need the words that account for what time of the month the nightshade was picked, how long it's been sitting in the jar, forcing it to act as if it was fresh picked at the full moon. And so on.

"The words are the binding that holds the curse together. Otherwise, just create a potion or a spell. Or use both together. The words force the magic to do exactly what you want it to do.

"The motley spell took me two months to write. I tested it on bug after bug until I got it right. Twenty pages of words to account for the variations I encountered."

Rumplestiltskin begged for the witch to teach him. They argued for hours, but eventually, he prevailed. She would teach him as long as he agreed to act as her apprentice; he had to do as she requested or she was done.

For over thirty years, they worked together. His early research into spell variances came in handy. He learned about potion ingredients, when they were at their peak, when they were unusable, and every stage in between. And he learned about words, how to craft them into the perfect binding for spell and potion to work in harmony.

When the witch died, peacefully in her sleep, he packed up her things in her hut, and transported them back to the Dark Castle. And he began to write.

_We will be transported to a Land Without Magic, the land in which Baelfire is living. No one except for Regina and myself will have our memories of the Enchanted Forest. No one except for Regina will be allowed to leave our town until the curse is broken. We will live the same day over and over with minor variations. Time will essentially stop. No one will grow even one second older. Snow White and David will have a child, called the Savior, who will break the curse by believing in magic. No one except for Regina, guests she brings with her, and the Savior will be allowed to enter the town from the outside. _


	11. The Beginning of the End

Time passed. Rumplestiltskin lived, learned, plotted, made deals, wrote his Curse, and waited. As another century came and went, his frustration peaked. He cursed those who got in his way, killed those who would try to stop him, let the madness of the Dark One reign. His only companions were his visions of the future, where he watched the highlights of his victims' lives, memorizing their lines, their actions. He shied away from visions of Beauty when awake. Her blue eyes seemed to condemn him for every curse, for every death, for taking the easy path each time she flashed into view.

She haunted his dreams. Dreams over which he had no control, from the very innocent to the extremely carnal. His every unacknowledged desire for her laid bare for his awakened self to deny, to loathe. He dreamed of spinning while she read, of picnics by a stream, of watching her sleep. He dreamed that he kissed her, that she kissed him back, of love words whispered while they explored each other's body. He dreamed that she joined with him eagerly, that together they reached heights of passion he had never seen before. And he dreamed of cuddling with her, her belly rounded gently with their child. He thoroughly despised himself for despoiling so pure a woman, even if only in dreams.

And so the years slipped by.

At long last Cora was born. And there was a problem. Her parents were kind, loving, hard-working; the kind of parents who would raise Cora to be as like them as possible. But a kind, loving Cora would not need him, would not force her daughter into a loveless marriage, would not lie, scheme and kill. A kind Cora would not do for his purposes at all. So he cursed them all: the mother to die, the father to become a drunkard, the daughter to always want more than she had.

He cast a sterility curse on the young Prince George. And a blessing/curse on Ruth that she would bear twin sons, but that as an adult her farm would fail. The former would raise a jackass of a son, while the latter raised a prince.

And then Eva, Snow White's mother, was born. She was raised knowing her place, a spoiled, petulant princess who looked down her nose at the working poor. Marrying Leopold and having a child would be sobering influences on her. As a young woman, she would do her part in molding Cora without additional prompting, and as Leopold's wife she would raise Snow to become a selfless princess who would inspire her people.

Cora, as an adult, was intoxicating. She lusted for respect, for power, for importance. She was not only beautiful, but smart and a quick learner. The darkness harbored within her resonated with his own. For centuries he had only physical pleasure in dreams of Beauty; Cora was flesh and blood and here, and she wanted him. To touch her, to be touched by her, made his body ache with desire. Kissing her made him insensate; she consumed his every thought both awake and asleep. Away from her captivating presence, he could easily see her two futures: to marry Prince Henry or to stay with Rumplestilskin. And as the days passed, it became clear that she would choose Rumplestiltskin. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, feel it in her touches; Cora was falling in love with him. And he could easily predict that he would fall in love with her. She was the ideal mate for the Dark One. Their child, Regina, would be slightly changed from the one he had foreseen so long ago, but he could alter the Curse to account for that. He and Cora would raise her to want to cast the Curse. And once he had found Baelfire, his family would be complete. He would have everything he ever wanted: a woman he loved and who loved him at his side, his children, and the power and ability to protect them from any and all harm.

So it was a rather severe blow to his mind, body and soul to hear that her decision was to marry the prince. It was more than slightly humiliating to realize that it was his curse upon her as a child that forced her decision; she wanted more than he could give her. Knowing she had to take out her own heart to make that decision was slightly gratifying on the one hand and horribly depressing on the other. Cora preferred to rip out her own heart than to love him.

Rumplestiltskin returned to the Dark Castle to nurse his bruised ego and shattered emotions. At first, he felt like he was going mad between hallucinations of Cora working magic at his side and foreseeing Beauty. For a long while, to banish the one was to bring on the other. Eventually he was able to harden his heart against the memories and dreams of Cora. He was able to visit her court with no twinge of regret or longing in any corner of his heart. And he was finally able to reign in his passion for Beauty. She was beautiful, true, and she tempted him beyond belief. But he had one love, one desire, one job to do: get Regina to cast the Curse so he could reunite with Baelfire. Everything else, everyone else, was immaterial, expendable. And that included Beauty.

A heartless Cora had no choice but to have a casual indifference to Regina's wants and needs. So Regina grew up with a mother who didn't, wouldn't, love and a weak willed father. She would be need just a little bit of moulding and training before she would be ready to cast his Curse.

Ruth's twins were born, James and David. King George bargained with Rumplestiltskin for a son and heir who then bargained with Ruth for James.

He bargained with King Midas to have a hand where everything he touched turned into gold.

And in seemingly rapid succession, the other major and minor players in the Curse were born. Rumplestiltskin was kept busy traveling from one place to another keeping both literal and foreseeing eyes on his cast of characters. He had to be absolutely sure that nothing and no one interfered with the grand plan, that everything that had to happen to shape their personalities happened.

With one notable exception: Beauty. He would wait to see her until he was asked to come.

He watched, invisible, as Cora poisoned Eva. As Snow refused to kill another to save her dying mother. He laughed as Regina and Daniel fell in love, as Cora crushed Daniel's heart to dust. He started teaching Regina magic. He skipped watching Regina entice the genie, and kill Leopold. But he promptly covered the mirrors in the Dark Castle after the genie magicked himself into one.

He taught Zelena magic, amused by her naked ambition to be better than her sister. And was horrified as Zelena fell in love with him. And railed at himself as she revealed her slippers with their ability to cross worlds.

As his menagerie grew up, he kept watch over them all. Regina needed to feel that she had no one on her side, to one who would like her never mind love her. He made sure that King George's kingdom went bankrupt, and that Prince James was killed in his duel. He was amazed that David, pretending to be Prince James, was able to kill a dragon. He rejoiced as Regina failed time and again to capture and kill Snow White. Regina was well on her way

And then the letter came. King Maurice begged for Rumplestiltskin to stop the Ogres who were decimating his small kingdom.

Rumplestiltskin transported himself into Maurice's throne room, invisible. He played with a castle from the war map as he watched the advisors nervously milling around, agonizing over their inability to stop the Ogres. He heard Beauty trying to reassure her father, and angered over Maurice's patronizing response. The Oaf was there, dull looking and dull-witted.

Beauty, Belle, was wearing the golden gown he had seen her in before. The cloth was shiny and stiff and clean, no rips in the hem. Her hair was perfectly coiffed with one curl sliding across her neck and breasts. She was more beautiful in person than she had been in his visions. He watched her dual futures: marriage and death or a cell and servitude. His decision made, he made the doors bang loudly as if they were being knocked on. As everyone milled towards the doors, he ensconced himself upon the throne.

"Well, that was a bit of a letdown."

**Thank you to everyone who has read this work. And a bigger thank you to those who followed this, and fanned this. I really appreciate that you took the time to read my bits of fluff.**


	12. The Worst Nights

If Belle had been asked a month ago, which night of staying in a dungeon cell would be the worst, she would have stated the night before one's execution. And the second worst would be the first night when one has no idea what to expect, when one is still wondering exactly how big the rats are and if the food would be at least partially edible. His warning, "It's forever, Dearie," at least indicated that he wasn't going to kill her anytime soon. And she feared that it quite possibly meant that he planned on keeping her alive for forever. So by that reasoning, her worst night should have been her first.

Her cell was small, cold, and thankfully free of rodents. Her mattress was thin, the blanket thinner and not long enough to wrap around her bare shoulders and stockinged feet at the same time unless she curled into a ball. And that wasn't very comfortable as the bed was not quite wide enough for her to curl up on. To add to her physical discomfort, her dress was not designed for sleeping in: the bodice was too tight, the crinolines scratchy on her legs even through the underskirt. And even if she had had a night dress to put on, the dress was not designed for one person to put on and remove; she required a dresser. She was hungry as the only food she could figure out how to prepare was cut up fruits and vegetables (small cuts on her fingers bearing testament that kitchen knives were sharper than table knives). And she hadn't cut up enough. However, the first night was not the worst.

Nor was the second, although the second was harder than the first. In addition to her previous complaints about her cell accommodations and her now desperate wish for a bath and a different dress, she was homesick. And hungry as the only food she had not burned to a crisp was raw carrots (which she didn't know to peel before eating so they were very bitter and poor tasting). And angry at her father for allowing her to agree to this arrangement. And angry at Gaston for not protecting her against her own foolishness. He was her fiancee, and he just gave in without much of a protest. And angry at the ogres for causing this mess in the first place.

No, the worst nights came later. The physical discomforts, the mental exhaustion, the ever present hunger, and the homesickness combined with terror upon hearing Robin Hood's screams as he was being tortured made for the worst nights in her short life.

But now that she was reflecting on her stay so far at the Dark Castle, the days weren't any better than the nights. She had had no idea on how to clean. Watching in passing as the maids worked back home was not sufficient preparation for doing the work herself. Dusting and sweeping looked easy, but there had to be a trick to it as so far she had only succeeded in moving the dust and dirt from one area to another. She had managed to locate laundry cauldrons and get a fire laid under them. And she had brought the dirty bed linens and clothing down to boil just like she had seen the laundresses do back home. He had appeared suddenly in the yard to remove his clothing from the pile, thankfully before she dumped his silk shirts into the pot. "That's not how you clean silk and leather," she muttered imitating him. Although with his accent, it had sounded more like 'Thas no how yeh cleen silk an lather.' Her attempts at cooking had, so far, resulted in the outsides being burned to a crisp while the insides were raw. She had no idea of what spices went with what foods nor the correct proportions to use, so her meals went unseasoned. Her stomach growled. Dinner tonight was supposed to have been chicken; but touching the slimy, raw chicken skin had made her stomach rebel all over said chicken. So instead they ate bland, burned/raw root vegetables.

"Well, Rumplestiltskin, I think you've made a very bad deal. You saved my kingdom from the ogres and in return you got a poor excuse for a care taker. I can't clean. I can't cook. I cry. A lot. And apparently your hearing is spectacular because somehow you can hear me crying all the way down here while you're up there spinning. You know what? I think you lied to me. I think you gave me this pillow because you feel guilty for keeping me locked in here, for taking me from my family. Is that it?" Belle paused, waiting to see if he answered her. If he was outside her door, he didn't respond. "There's something weird going on here. That thief, Robin Hood? You could have killed him when he first tried to steal the wand. You could have killed him at any time while he was in this dungeon. You could have killed him after I set him free. You had his bow that never misses its target and you shot the wagon. I know you did, even though you denied it.

"You've killed people for lesser offenses than merely _trying_ to steal from you never mind _actually_ stealing from you. I flattered myself in that forest, thinking that perhaps I helped you to change your mind. But now, I don't know what to think."

Belle paused her monologue again. If he was listening, now would be a good time for him to speak up. "You make me sleep in this dungeon instead of at least a servant's room. And you tortured Robin Hood," she listed his faults. "On the other hand, you haven't punished me for breaking that cup or not doing anything right around here. You obviously didn't hurt Robin too badly, because he was able to escape from the Castle. You didn't kill him when you could have, and you didn't take your wand back after he healed that woman. You also protected me from that awful sheriff. So what am I to make of you?"

There was still no noise from outside her door to let her know whether or not he was listening. She wrestled with her skirts until she found the tapes tying her crinolines on. She removed them and tossed them in a corner of the cell. Then she folded the blanket in half and tucked it in to the bottom part of her bed. She slid her feet under the blanket, wrapped the rest of her body in her new cloak, and cuddled into her pillow. Warm for the first time since she had come to the Dark Castle, she fell into a fitful sleep.

While outside her door, Rumplestiltskin sat on the floor, his hands clasped loosely around his shins, his head resting on his knees. _I don't know what to make of me, either. _He really had no idea why he spared Robin Hood's life. He didn't foresee anything important in Hood's life. And until the woman stood up exposing her swollen belly, he had not known the man was going to be a father. Not that that was a reason to shoot the cart. Potentially fatherless children had never stopped him killing before.

Which left one reason for granting clemency.

He twisted his thoughts away from that line of thinking and focused on the problem of Snow White/David and Regina trying to kill each other. He had to make sure that neither succeeded. Perhaps a curse?


	13. Visions Come True

He spent the night dreaming of kissing Belle. So by the time Rumplestiltskin woke up the next morning, he had realized that a curse was not going to work. All curses can be broken by True Love's Kiss, and Snow and David were going to kiss each other. A lot. In stories True Love's Kiss was always a grand romantic gesture, usually accompanied by flowers, lots of sighs from the spectators, and the prince kneeling tragically over the bier of his beloved. But in reality, any kiss between true loves would break a curse.

He looked through his spell books trying to find one that prevented someone from killing a specific person. Regina, Snow and David all needed to live in order for the Curse to work; he couldn't allow them to kill each other. After about an hour's worth of searching, he was interrupted by the smell and sight of smoke coming from the courtyard. He looked out the window to see Belle had the laundry cauldron hanging over a fire. She had a basket filled with sheets, another filled with his waistcoats, and a book in her hand. Referring often to her book, she measured out washing soda into the cauldron, stirred it, and then dumped the sheets in. _The library came in handy, then. Clever girl._ He settled on the window sill watching her stir the sheets. Eventually, this would become a mindless task, but for now she appeared to be very focused on making sure the sheets didn't stick to the cauldron, alternately beating and stirring them to get any dirt out. Her face was red, whether from the heat of the fire or exertion, he didn't know. When she judged the sheets to be sufficiently cleaned, she dumped sand on the fire putting it out. And leaving the cauldron to cool, she turned her attention to her book and his waistcoats. She used a soft cloth dampened in soapy water to wipe the leather, removing dust and dirt. He forgot all about his quest as he watched her hands moving back and forth, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Every once in a while, she would find a spot that required a bit more attention and she would bite her bottom lip as she scrubbed. For a while he allowed himself to daydream: what would it feel like if she was running her fingers over his waistcoat while he was still wearing it. He imagined a day when she would not be repulsed by the sight and feel of his scaly skin, when she would want to touch him, hold him, be held by him. Repulsed by the direction his thoughts had taken, he abruptly moved away from the window, back to his books. _She's little more than a child. And I'm a monster._

A few more hours of searching, and he found the spell he wanted. But the exhilaration of finding the spell quickly turned to frustration as he realized that it didn't do what he wanted it to do. He could prevent Regina from killing Snow, but not from ordering her henchmen to do it. He was going to have to start this quest from the beginning again. He threw the book across the room in anger; it crashed into some beakers sitting on a table, shattering them before smashing the glass windows of a cabinet.

He stared at the glass shards littering the floor. An entire day wasted. It was tea time and he had accomplished absolutely nothing. He had wasted time yearning for the impossible and searching for the wrong spell. He transported himself to Belle's location. "It's tea tie..." Belle was on all fours in the Great Hall, an overturned wash bucket on the floor near her. _That vision. I've seen this before. The glass breaking, that was what startled her into knocking over the bucket. Oh, gods, help me._ "Is everything all right in here?" he asked, because that was what he had already asked. And really what else can you say?

Belle stood up, laughing. "Just taking a bath." Rumplestiltskin forced his head to look up and away from her. But he could still see out of the corner of his eye as she tried to unstick her wet skirts from her legs. Those beautiful legs, perfectly outlined by the clinging folds of her dress. His fingers uncontrollably twitched with wanting, needing, to feel if her body was as soft as he imagined it was. He cast a quick spell, drying the skirts so they hung properly, hiding those lovely legs from view. And he refilled her wash bucket. "I just... ah. I'll leave you to your work."

He knew what she was going to say next, of course. "You can stay. I've finished the area around your wheel; it's almost dry over there. I'll go make the tea." He shook his head, still staring at the ceiling._ I thought it would be easier, having been through this in a vision._ "No. No, I'll, um, come back later. When everything is dry. You can bring my tea to my workroom." He vanished.

He stared, unseeing, out the tower windows at the mountains and forest that sheltered his home. His mind raced as he considered and rejected idea after idea on how to keep Regina, Snow and David alive, at least until the Curse was cast. He forced his mind to stay away from thinking about Belle and that ragged golden dress.

Belle carried the tea tray up the tower stairs. There was no response to her knock on the door. He didn't move as she opened the door nor did he react to her footsteps crunching the glass shards on the floor. She placed the tray on an empty spot on a table and called his name. When he still didn't react, she was faced with a problem: how to get his attention without being hurt or turned into a toad or something. He had his left hand braced on the wall; she placed hers on top. His skin was coarse under her palm, the scaled skin not completely unpleasant to the touch. That simple contact was enough to break his concentration; his head turned first towards their hands and then to her face. She forced herself to look into his eyes, those strange reptilian eyes. "I brought your tea. And, and I came to apologize."

"What for?" he whispered. He maneuvered his hand so that his was covering hers. His palm was smooth, so different from the back of his hand.

"You've done so much for me, for my family. You saved them all! You asked for so little in return: that I be your caretaker, to cook and clean for you. And I... I haven't kept my part of the bargain. I've spent so much time feeling miserable, thinking of what I had lost when I should have been thankful that my small sacrifice has kept my people safe. But that is changed today. I found books in your library that are teaching me how to do all that. It may take me a little while, but I'll be the caretaker you deserve."

He switched his gaze back to their entwined hands, relishing the feel of her skin on his. "I took you away from everything familiar. I suppose it's natural for you to feel resentment."

"That's what I realized last night. You didn't 'take me away'. And I don't resent you. You gave us, gave me, a choice, and I chose to go with you. It might not have been the deal my father wished for, but it was the deal you offered. The decision to come here was mine to make. Were you to offer me the same choice today, I would still choose this." She curled her fingers around his. "And I wanted to thank you. For not killing Robin Hood. For protecting me from that sheriff. For being patient with me." When he didn't respond, she squeezed his hand and left.

He watched her go, his skin tingling wherever it had touched hers. _She touched me. Without being asked to, without showing repulsion. She touched my hand. _He closed his eyes, the better to remember the feeling of her hand in his. He had to do something to repay Belle for that precious gift. He conjured new clothing and laid it upon her bed with a note about how to find and work a hip bath that magically filled itself with hot water and emptied itself upon request. _Snow and her Prince Charming would like Belle. They would be good friends, I think. _An idea started to swirl in his head. _Charming... _His eyes snapped open._ I need a charm spell protecting them from death. A subtle spell that will cause a sword's death blow to slow enough to be blocked, an arrow to go awry. A hangman's noose to fray and break. A spell that would still permit non-fatal wounds or Regina, and perhaps even Snow and David, would get suspicious._ There was one small problem.

"I need to find a fairy. I hate fairies."


	14. Something's Changed

The aromas creeping throughout the Dark Castle let Rumplestiltskin know that dinner was ready. He found his plate cooling on the table in the Great Hall, and Belle stretched out on a couch nearby reading. Over the last days, her cooking had improved dramatically, no doubt thanks to the cookbooks she found in the library. "You're not eating?" he asked her.

"I ate already," she replied absently, not looking up from the book. He finished his meal quickly, and walked over to peer over her shoulder. "What's it about?"

She twisted her neck to look at him. "It's about this woman, Penelope, and her husband, Odysseus. She stays home fending off suitor after suitor while he has these grand adventures with gods and goddesses. Would you like to sit down?" She curled her legs up to give him room.

Rumplestiltskin sat down gingerly on the other end of the couch careful to not touch her. "You know, most people would say that The Odyssey was just about Odysseus' adventures. Most would ignore Penelope's role; they would say it was inconsequential to the story."

"You've read it, then?"

"It is in my library."

"Yes, well, my father has a large library, too, and he hasn't read most of the books in it. Certainly not fantasy stories like this one."

He held out his hand. "May I?" Belle placed a strand of golden thread to mark her place in the book and passed it to him. Rumplestiltskin caressed the book's cover. "I didn't have very many books growing up. It wasn't until I came here that I had the money to buy books, and the time to read them. So, yes, I have read every single book in that library. Cover to cover. Even the ones I didn't enjoy." He opened the book to the thread marker. "Why are you using this?"

"Back home, I would use a ribbon to mark my place." She shrugged. "I don't have any here, so... I didn't think you'd mind, you have so much of it."

"I don't mind." He picked up the thread, waved his other hand over it, transforming it into a thin gold ribbon. He placed the ribbon, closed the book, and handed it back with a slight bow. "My lady."

Belle nodded her head in return. "My lord. Thank you. Would it be..." she bit her lip. "Could I write to my father? Ask him to send me some of my clothing? This dress really has seen better days."

He shook his head, "No, no you can't write to your father. But I'll see to it that you have new clothes. Warmer ones. Winter is coming."

Later that evening, he spun straw into gold at his wheel in the Great Hall. Belle was curled up on her couch, reading, only a few feet away. _Something is different about her tonight. Not just the new dress._ He stared at her, trying to pinpoint what had changed. Belle looked up from her book and smiled at him. _She's acting like she belongs here. Like this is her home instead of her prison._ He averted his eyes, focusing on the wheel spinning. His stomach clenched with uneasiness. _Something's changed._


	15. Puppets

The end was coming. Rumplestiltskin smiled as he caressed the Black Fairy's wand. The cinder girl was on her way to meet her prince. "She's meeting her twoo wuv", he giggled. Snow White and David were days, weeks at most, away from meeting and falling in love. Within a year they would be married, and less than a year after that, their child would be born.

And Regina would cast the Curse. The Curse that would finally take him to Bae.

Almost 300 years of waiting and plotting were behind him. Less than two years to go. And then more waiting, the last bit of waiting, for the Savior to grow up and release him.

So close to the end, scrying and spying were almost daily actions. He could permit nothing to go wrong. He used mirrors and crystal crystal balls to keep track of their current movements. He used glamour spells to get close to them, but not too close. Disguised, he whispered to a crofter here, made an idle comment to a courtier there. They, in turn, passed on the information to Snow, David or Regina, gave them the knowledge they needed to complete his quest. Anything and everything to push them into his way of thinking, acting, to keep them in line with his needs. And, of course, he used his forsight to make sure that the future was what it needed to be.

He activated his foresight, and looked for when Snow and David met. He Saw Snow hiding in a tree, watched her jump onto David's coach and steal his pouch of jewels. He had seen this time and again; he took comfort in the inevitability of their meeting, of the True Love magic that surrounded them, of the child born from True Love who would break the Curse. But then the Vision spun to Belle. She was in his Great Hall wearing a blue dress. "Do the brave thing," she said. _Not now._ He forced the Vision to David. David was laughing at Snow dangling in a net. As David started to cut Snow down, the Vision twisted back to Belle. _Stop this._ She was sitting on his table, swinging her legs. She looked over at the Rumplestiltskin in the Vision; "I think you were lonely."

He banished the foresight. This was quite an undesirable complication. He had had control over the Visions for centuries. He had successfully eliminated Visions of Belle long ago, and yet here they were again, thwarting his will. _Curious_. She wasn't important to his plan, to his Curse. She may be temptation incarnate, but he was strong. He had to be; to give in to temptation would be to lose his son. He had waited too long, given up too much, sacrificed too many; he was too close to lose Bae now.

Belle certainly didn't make refusing temptation easy on him; she actively sought his company now. She preferred to read in whatever room he happened to be in; she said that it was to avoid wasting another fire at night. But when she took respite during the day, when there was no need for a fire to light the pages, she still found a comfortable spot near him to settle in. She regularly asked his opinions on the books she read, what she should read next. She inquired about the potions he made, and even stood alongside him in his workroom, helping to prepare the simpler ingredients. She paid attention to which meals he savored and which he pushed around on the plate; she made his favorites over and over again. Those incredible blue eyes no longer looked at him with fear and revulsion. And she touched him. All the time. Small touches that came so naturally to her. There really was no import to a touch on the back of his hand to get his attention when he was concentrating. Or a brush of her arm against his as she reached across the work table. Such small touches meant nothing to her, but to him?

_She is so beautiful_. Nothing had changed for him in the intervening centuries since he first Saw her. She was still intoxicating to his senses. He wished he could, just once, touch her face to see if her skin was as soft as it looked. His fingers itched to caress her curves, to tangle in her chestnut curls. To hold her face steady to his as he kissed her. He yearned to kiss her until she kissed him back, until they were both insensate to anything but their need for the other. He longed for more than just kisses. But she didn't want him in that way, or any way, really. Young women just did not go lusting after golden-scaled lizard men. And they certainly never fell in love with monsters.

_Where the hell did that come from?_ Rumplestiltskin was so shocked at the direction his thoughts had taken, he barely noticed the wand slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers to clang on the floor. _Love! Ha!_ He began pacing, struggling to gain control over his emotions. _Love makes you weak, vulnerable. It gives the object of your love power over you._ Everyone he loved either abandoned him or was abandoned by him. He would not add Belle to either list. He thought back to King Maurice's throne room, and that oaf, Gaston, lumbering around the room, blustering 'The lady is engaged. To me.' And of his own flippant response, 'I'm not looking for love.' He wasn't. He accidentally stepped on the Black Fairy's wand; it rolled under his foot, momentarily unbalancing him. He made a rude gesture at the offending stick and sent it to his vault for safe storage. He wasn't looking for love. Love was for heroes and heroines and fainting damsels in distress. It uplifted them, made them stronger, more heroic.

Love for monsters was perverted, distorted, ugly. Love for Bae had made him strong, yes, strong enough to maim himself and be branded a coward. Strong enough to dispassionately kill the guilty and innocent alike. Strong enough to ruin countless lives so that he could reunite with his son. Belle in love with him? What monstrous acts would she be willing to commit? No, Belle would never fall in love with a monster; she was a hero already, ready to give up her life to protect her people. Heroes defeat the monsters; they don't fall in love with them.

No. Snow, David, Regina: they were important. They were the puppets on his string, dancing for his amusement, his needs, his desires. They would perform as instructed. They would be sacrificed for Bae.


	16. Snow Fall

Rumplestiltskin was almost giddy with excitement. The day was here. Snow and David's first meeting. He was trying to decide whether to watch via a mirror or a crystal ball. Thinking that he really didn't want the genie to see what he was seeing, he decided upon the crystal. As he lifted one from a cabinet to place on a table in his workroom, he felt a chill across the back of his neck. Someone had performed a very powerful spell. He cast spell after spell, widening his search area each time, trying to identify who cast the spell, what it was used for, or where it was cast. He had no answers for the first two, but the last? The spell was cast right near where Snow perched in a tree waiting for what she thought was Regina's carriage to pass by. He looked into the crystal ball and watched in increasing horror as a blond woman, who had never before been seen in any foresight, leaned on and snapped a stick just a few feet away from the tree Snow clung to. Snow, instead of jumping onto David's carriage and stealing his jewel pouch, fell off of her tree and ran away into the forest. "What have you done?" he screamed at the woman in the ball. His dispair and anger magnified exponentially as he turned his gaze to the man laying next to her: _Hook_! Rumplestiltskin's thoughts swirled around Hook: the man who stole Milah, who lost a hand but kept a bean. The man should have died centuries ago, of old age at the very least. How was he still alive? Not that he was going to remain alive for very much longer. The crystal ball shifted focus; it showed Hook standing on the edge of the deck of his ship, laughing at something, or someone, in the water. _How? How can Hook be in two places at once? _A disguise?

He focused the crystal on the blond woman. She looked as upset as he felt. "That bandit was Snow White," her heard her say to Hook. "This was the moment my parents first met."

Snow White was this woman's mother? How? They looked to be about the same age! And Snow White had never had a child! He would know; he'd been watching her her whole life. Snow would eventually bear a child, the Savior, the one who would break the Curse. But that happy event was two years away. So how could Snow be a mother to a twenty something year old? He began pacing, trying to figure out the riddle.

An adult who hasn't been born yet talking to a duplicate man. Was it all an elaborate hoax played out for his benefit? But who would do that? Who knew of his interest in Snow and David? No, too messy, too complicated. And he would have foreseen them in the hundreds of times he watched the first meeting between Snow and David. No, this wasn't planned. Something powerful, that spell he wasn't able to identify, altered the time line. But what can alter time? "If she hasn't been born yet, how can she be here?" he whispered. He stopped pacing and threw himself into a chair. "An adult who isn't yet born," he reasoned. "Well, obviously she was born, but that's two years from now." His eyes widened. "Two years from now... She's from the future!" A rush of exhilaration rushed through his body. Did he do it? Did he succeed?

He ran down the stairs to where Belle was cleaning. "I have to go out," he told her. "I'll be back later." And without waiting for Belle to respond, he transported himself to a hill overlooking his castle. The woman and duplicate Hook had their backs to him.

"Look ahead, Swan, Dark One's castle," Hook spoke quietly. _The woman's name is Swan? I thought Snow was going to name her Emma!_

Swan, replied, "A little more imposing than the pawn shop." _What is a pawn shop? _" So... what do we do now? Knock on the door and introduce ourselves? Hey! We're... from the future." _I was right!_

Hook shook his head. "Might be best if I stay back. The Dark One and I have a rather complicated past. I'd wager he'd want to kill me on sight."

Rumplestiltskin could be silent no longer. "Oh, I'll take that bet!" He giggled and faux clapped his hands. "I can't tell you how long I've been looking forward to this." Swan looked shocked. "Oops! I suppose I just did." He held out his hand, and as he clenched his fist, he used magic to slowly choke Hook.

Hook clutched at his throat. "Swan!" he gasped.

"Stop!" she called out. _Interfering female!_ Rumplestiltskin waved his other hand and she flew into the dirt.

"I don't know who you are, Dearie, but why don't you run off and let me enjoy my killing in peace."

He's not going to hurt you," she reassured Hook. "You have to listen to me," she pleaded to Rumplestiltskin.

"And why would I listen to you?" he sneered. He tightened his grasp on Hook's throat. Oh, the noises Hook made as he slowly choked were musical!

"Because if you don't, you'll never see your son again!"

For a moment, Rumplestiltskin was torn. Let the pirate live and hope Swan was not lying about Baelfire or kill him? Curiosity won out. He relaxed his hold on Hook's neck. He turned to Swan and pointed an accusing finger at her, "What do you know of my son."

"His name is Baelfire. You're planning to enact a curse in hopes of reuniting with him."

"Who told you that? What are you? Some kind of witch?"

"No, I'm not a witch. I'm the one who breaks the curse so that you could find him." She paused. "I'm the product of True Love."

"But that's speculation." _It works!_ "Part of my plan. But I haven't done it!"

"You will," she stated. "And you will succeed."

"If that's true... then that means..."

"We're from the future... mate." Hook finished.

"But time travel hasn't been done. Mate." Rumplestiltskin spat. _Tell me how you did it!_

"Yeah, well, someone's cracked that code." Swan muttered. _Cracked the code? What does that mean? _"We need your help."

"Help," Rumplestiltskin repeated. Then he giggled._ Of course you need my help! You've stopped your parents from meeting. You need to fix this or you'll never have been born!_ "You need my help. Then answer me one question." He edged closer. "Do I find my son?" Swan hesitated. _Tell me!_ "Answer me!" he yelled.

"Yes," she whispered. She looked angry and resigned.

"Bae, I find Bae." She nodded. "How?" he wondered. As she started to talk, he interrupted her. "Don't tell me. If I succeeded, I don't want anything in my head that might throw it off."

That look of resignation was back on Swan's face. "It might already kinda be thrown off."

_Really? You don't say. _"You've changed things. What have you done!"

Swan stared at the ground for a moment, then sheepishly looked up. "We interrupted my parents' meeting."


	17. Hook, Swan, and Stiltskin

**A huge thank you to those who read my scribbles. And an even bigger thank you to those of you who have faved and/or reviewed them. Your kind comments and requests for more truly make my day brighter.**

Rumplestiltskin took his Swan and Hook back to his castle. He was semi-confident that this mess would be resolved in his favor. True Love was the most powerful magic in all the realms; Snow White and David were destined to fall in love. Swan edited their story, true, but the magic would force them back together at some point. Swan herself was living proof of that; she would have disappeared the instant she broke the stick if her parents somehow didn't fall in love. He just needed to be sure that Snow and David fell in love on the sooner side of things rather than the later or the rest of his plans would be ruined. Although, again, Swan would not be here if he did not succeed.

_Swan, you have no idea of what I've gone through to get your parents married! I made Regina cut off trade to King George's kingdom, beggaring his kingdom, forcing him to betroth his son to King Midas' daughter to gain some of that wealth back. Then I had to make sure James died in his duel, so David could take his place as 'James'. And persuade David to actually be the prince. Just yesterday I made a suggestion that David take the scenic route to his new home, a route where Snow White would be lying in wait for Regina to pass by. She would steal David's jewels, hijinks ensue, they get married and have you! What were you thinking? You've ruined years, years!, of careful planning._

He led the way into the Great Hall. "Thank you Mr. Go, Rumplestiltskin, for believing us. I know time travel must be hard to swallow," Swan stumbled over her words. _My name there is Mr. Go? What an odd name..._

"Not as hard as the other mystery you've presented me," he answered and spun around. "Why haven't I killed him." he spat as he pointed to Hook.

"If it makes you feel any better," Hook reasoned, "it wasn't for lack of effort. Let's just say we buried the hatchet."

"Yes, but why not in your skull?" _This land without magic must be a strange place. Swan says the oddest things. My name is Mr. Go and I live in a pawn shop, whatever a pawn is. Chess, maybe? And strangest of all, I make peace with my archenemy? _

Hook looked strange, like he wasn't used to being threatened. _What goes on over there? _As he was about to reply, Belle entered the room, smiling. "Oh, Rumplestiltskin, you're, you're back!" Rumplestilskin panicked for a moment. _If Belle makes it there, to the land without magic, does Swan know her? Will she say something? Don't say anything!_ he pleaded silently_. I don't want Belle finding out about the Curse._ "Do you, ah, do you need anything?" Belle continued.

Swan had turned around at Belle's entrance. "Belle!" Rumplestiltskin schooled his face to passivity with a hint of curiosity. But he failed to contain the inexplicable spurt of pure joy that traveled through his body at the discovery that Belle would be there in the new land. He refused to examine why.

"Sorry. Do, do we know each other?"

"Oh, sorry, no... Mr... Rumple... The Dark One. Told me about you."

"Did he." Belle smirked, looking at him for a follow up compliment.

The panic came back. He tried to keep it out of his voice, but he failed. "No. Go away and read a book or whatever it is you like to do." He flapped his hands at her, shooing her away. "Come back and clean later." _Belle, you need to leave before Miss Can't Keep Her Mouth Shut says something I don't want you to hear!_

"You could ask nicely."

"I could also turn you into a toad!" _Great, now I'm talking nonsense!_

"It's a miracle you two fall for each other," Swan whispered.

_"_WHAT!" Rumplestiltskin's mind went completely numb for a moment. _Fall for her. Fall for Belle? Fall in love with Belle? _Belle was leaving the room. _Please let her not have heard that._ "First you tell me I let the pirate live. Now you're telling me I fall for the help!" he realized he was blathering, but couldn't stop himself.

"Yes, she has a strange sense of humor. But let's get back to her parents." The captain's was the sole voice of sanity in the room.

Rumplestiltskin forced his mind away from the unwelcome thought that he might fall in love with Belle. Or worse, that she might fall in love with him. "Yes. Who are they?" _Snow White and David,_ he answered for Swan.

"Snow White and Prince Charming," she unconsciously repeated.

"Prince Charming!" Rumplestiltskin took a seat at his table.

"His real name is Prince James," Swan explained.

"King George's son?" She nodded. "Whose wedding I've just arranged?"

"See that's what I'm trying to tell you." Swan was talking very quickly, her words tripping over each other. "That marriage isn't supposed to happen because the ring he was going to give her gets stolen by Snow."

"That's quite a tale you're spinning." _And it would have happened, too, if you hadn't shown up to mess with your past!_

"Here, let me show you. It's in the book." Hook opened a bag and they took out a large book to lay on the table.

Rumplestiltskin smiled as he saw that many pages of the book were blank. "Wait, what?" Swan whispered in disbelief. _This is what happens when you change things, Dearie! _But blank pages meant that the new future wasn't already fixed in place. He could still arrange for them to meet on his schedule.

"It's all gone. Anything that was supposed to happen after they've met has disappeared." Hook explained.

"The ripple effect," Rumplestiltskin clarified. "Once you change something in the past, anything from that point forward becomes uncertain. The future, as you can see, is a blank page."

"We need to get Snow to steal that ring so we can get their story back on track." _Ah, Swan, now you're starting to get it!_

"You're in luck. There's a ball tonight in King Midas' castle. Prince James will be there. And so will his ring."

"So we just need to get Snow there." Swan was hopeful.

But Hook was a bit more pessimistic. "How? We don't even know where she is."

Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat. "Allow me." He crossed over to a side table where another crystal ball sat. A wave of his hand and the ball filled with smoke. As the smoke cleared, they could clearly see Snow sitting in a tavern talking to a pirate.

"There she is," Swan sighed.

Hook recognized the pirate at the table, "She's with Blackbeard. She's trying to secure passage on a ship."

The three watched as Blackbeard stood up and walked away from Snow. "And, it appears, failing," Rumplestiltskin sneered. _Of course she's failing; I arranged for that, too._

"She can't escape from the queen without the money she was supposed to get from the ring." Panic seemed to be the emotion of the hour since he could quite clearly hear it in Swan's voice. She turned from the ball to Rumplestiltskin. "Can you help us?"

"Help you?" Rumplestiliskin echoed. "I can work on getting your portal to the future open again. But getting your parents together? You made that mess, Dearie. Only you know what you did. Now go undo it." Swan's body slumped with dejection as he walked away from her. _You're upset I won't help you? Time travel is impossible. Never been done before. And it won't be done for another 25 or 30 years. Do you know how you got here? I certainly don't. But between the two of us, I think I'm more likely to succeed at getting you back than you would. You've got the easy part; the magic of True Love is going to get Snow and David to fall in love. You just have to give it, them little pushes._

Hook tried to cheer her up. "If she's looking for passage out of town, I might know a ship's captain who can help us."

"Who?"

"Me."


	18. An Unlikely Fairy Godmother, Again

Rumplestiltskin transported Swan and Hook to outside the tavern where Snow White was sitting, rejected. They had their work to do, and he had his; he needed to learn, and quickly, how to open a time portal. Or maybe he just needed to undo the time spell... _Wasn't there something about the Black Fairy's wand?_

He hurried to his work room. There was a book, somewhere, on the fairies and the powers they held. He scanned shelf after shelf; no book. It must be in Belle's library. He scurried down one set up stairs and ran up another only to stumble on the last few steps as he realized that the library was not empty; Belle lay on her chaise, reading.

Belle smiled at him as she placed her book marker in her book. "Your guests are gone?"

"Yes, for now." He turned from her to start looking for that book. For some reason, Belle's smile uncomfortably reminded him of Swan's comment: 'It's a miracle you two fall for each other.'

"That woman?" Belle spoke to his back. "She seemed like she knew you. And she knew who I was? Who are they?"

To tell the truth or to lie? Or to tell only part of the truth? "The pirate is named Killian Jones, but he goes by Captain Hook. He and I have had dealings," he sneered that word, "in the past. He stole something that belonged to me; I cut off his hand." _Almost the truth. _He moved to the next bookcase. "Hook calls the woman Swan. She claims she's from the future. I suppose that's where she would have met you." The book wasn't in this case, either.

"So, we're still together then? In the future?"

Rumplestiltskin replayed her query over and over again in his head. She didn't seem unhappy to think they would be together. Was Swan right? Did Belle love him? "She didn't talk much about the future, and nothing about you or me." _Liar. _"Swan wants me to send her back to the future. But before she can do that, she needs for Snow White and Prince James to fall in love with each other." Yet another case full of the wrong books.

"But Prince James just became engaged to Princess Abigail; I saw the invitation to their ball downstairs."

"Yes, but according to Swan," _and my own planning, which she nearly ruined_, "Snow White was supposed to rob Prince James earlier today. He was supposed to chase after her," he changed his tone from serious to frivolous, "They fall in love, they share True Love's Kiss, he breaks off his engagement to Abigail, and marries Snow White. After a suitable period of time, their child is born, and they name her Swan. And they all live happily ever after." He giggled for Belle's benefit. _Well, that does it for Swan's comment. We can't fall in love with each other; there is no way the Dark One gets a happily ever after._

"You said Snow White was supposed to rob Prince James. She didn't?"

"No," he hissed. "Swan and Hook scared off Snow before she robbed James."

Belle sat up with a rustle of skirts. "What can I do to help?"

"If they truly are from the future, they came here through a time portal. They don't know how the portal was created, nor how to recreate it. Neither do I. But I remember reading about a magic that can reverse any spell. I just can't remember all the details."

"What was the book about? I'll help you look."

"Fairies. I'm looking for the properties of the Black Fairy's wand."

Belle walked to the shelves on the other side of the room and together they looked for the book. Every so often, he would feel her eyes on him. But, of course, by the time he glanced over at her, she was back to reading book names. It was difficult to concentrate on the task at hand knowing that she was stealing peeks at him from across the room. This was crazy; he was behaving like a love-sick swain, literally falling over his own feet in her presence. Not able to look at her and talk. 'You fall for each other' Swan claimed. It was a ridiculous claim. Love! He was the Dark One; Belle was all that was light and good. _She can't love me! I'm a monster, inside and out. And she is brave and selfless and true. _

It was with a great sigh of relief that Rumplestiltskin saw the book he was looking for. Now he could get back to work. But first he had to check in on Swan and Hook.

He found them sitting on a small hill overlooking the castle where Princess Abigail and Prince James were celebrating their engagement. He settled on a tree stump, waiting for the opportune moment to break into the conversation.

"Snow should have no trouble sneaking inside," Hook was saying.

"What about us." Swan seemed despondent. "We're supposed to just sit here, hope that she pulls it off? I don't like leaving things to chance."

"You know, I feel exactly the same way!" Rumplestiltskin agreed from behind the pair. He loved the look of surprise on their faces as they stood up and turned to face him. "Which is why I never do. See?" He waved his hand and an engraved card appeared. "An invitation to the ball."

"So you'll be inside to watch out for her."

_Silly girl! I told you, you're in charge of making sure you get Snow and David back on track._ "No, no. I'll be far too busy sorting out how to get you home."

"Well, who is the invitation for?" Hook sounded like he had figured it out, but wanted confirmation that he was wrong.

"Well, isn't it obvious? The two of you!"

Both Swan and Hook huffed. In exasperation? "So, when we're done inside, you can open our portal?"

"There's a powerful wand, which I, ahhh," _No need to talk about how exactly I got the wand. _"I came to posess. Anyway, legend says that it can recreate any magic that has ever been wielded. Now with a little work, I can use it to create whatever portal brought you here."

"Please do it quickly," Swan begged. "We'll be in and out before you know it. I want to get the Hell out of here."

"Ooooh! Confidence! I like it!" _She's got her mother's spunk, that's for certain._ As the pair started to walk away, he called after them. "Wait! Not like that..." _You are not dressed for a ball, Dearie._ He waved his hand and a red cloud encircled the pair. When it dissipated, Swan's peasant rags had become a scarlet ball gown. The bodice fitted tightly while the skirt billowed. Her hair was elaborately coiffed on the top of her head, and a tiara glittered among the waves. Hook's leathers were gone as well, changed into an outfit fit for a king. "The Savior can't come this far and not play Princess for a day!"

"But I'm not supposed to stick out," Swan complained. "What if someone remembers me in the future?"

"Because what you had before was such an intricate disguise?" _Infernal woman can't just accept a gift?_ "Speaking of which. I've returned those stolen rags, luckily before they were missed. I mean, it's a miracle the time line hasn't imploded already." He wagged his finger. "Amateurs." At Swan and Hook's abashed looks, he mentally shook his head. "Allow me." He conjured a mirror so they could see their reflections. "A glamour spell. This is how you shall appear to one and all. Now run along and do everything you can to make sure Snow White gets that ring. Once they are back on track, everything else will be too."


	19. Revelations

Rumplestiltskin glared at the book on fairies laying face down next to him on his bed. It had reaffirmed what he thought he remembered; the Black Fairy's wand would be able to recreate the time portal. Fairy wands helped the fairy to grant wishes; this wand granted its user the wish to recreate any magic. And that was a problem for a magic user not really used to resisting temptation. He would have to make, and drink, a forgetting potion. And forget everything from when Swan and Hook first arrived until after they left.

The temptation to use the wand, to create a portal to the future, was nearly irresistible. Within a matter of minutes he could be at Baelfire's side, if only he knew when and where Baelfire would be pre-Curse. But logic stayed his hand. To go to the land without magic post-Curse now would be an exercise in futility; if he wasn't here when Regina cast the Curse, would she still cast it? Would she still have the strength to kill her own father if he wasn't there to goad her into doing it? And without the Curse how would he find Baelfire? No, the best option would be to forget these events, and continue with his plans as before.

It was all so infuriating! He had the power and the tool to get to Bae just a swish of his fingers away. But he lacked the knowledge of where exactly Bae was.

There was a quick knock at his door which opened to admit the aroma of beef stew. Belle peeked her head around the door. "I thought you might be hungry. You missed dinner." She handed him a tray containing a bowl of stew and a large chunk of bread and settled at the foot of his bed to watch him eat.

_Belle is going to have to drink a forgetting potion, too,_ he thought. _I can't have her reminding me that there is a time gap in my life._ Which meant he could ask her anything, and neither of them would remember it later.

"Are you happy here, Belle?" he wondered after he had sated his initial hunger pangs.

"I wasn't at first, but you knew that. The last few months, though... I don't know if I would say happy. Content, maybe? I wish I wasn't confined to this castle, but it's not such a bad place to be. If I hadn't come here, I would most likely be married to Gaston by now. He was, still is I suppose, convinced that aristocratic women should be placed on pedestals and left there to gather dust. You don't treat me like that. I like not being treated as if I was a fragile piece of crystal. Something to be protected, taken out for show, and otherwise ignored. I like that I can read whatever book I want in your library, even books that my father or Gaston would say are not for girls to read. And then you talk to me about them! And you listen to my opinion even when you don't agree with it.

"Housework was hard at first. But this castle is much cleaner than when I arrived; I did that. I learned how to clean. I learned how to cook." Her voice rang with pride in her accomplishments. "My time here? I've become more than just a princess. I've become me, if that makes any sense."

He swallowed his last bite of stew. "And Gaston? Did you love him?"

"Love Gaston?" she gave a small snort. "Our fathers arranged our marriage. No, I don't love him." Her voice turned wistful. "I never expected to find love at first sight. That seems rather shallow to me. You see them and you're in love? A grand passion based solely on looks and initial behavior. But what happens when those looks fade and the behavior changes?" She turned her gaze to her fingers twisting the bed cloth. "No, I wanted something more gradual, more mysterious. To get to know him day after day until a day comes when, all of a sudden, I know that this is the man I will love for the rest of my life. To uncover the layers that make him who he is." She smoothed the covers and looked back at Rumplestiltskin. "Poor Gaston has no layers; I've known him for years. He is who he is, what you see is what you get.

"But what about you?"

Rumplestiltskin slid the tray, now emptied of food, onto a table next to the bed. _I can tell her the truth; neither of us are going to remember this. _"I was married; we had a son. They've both been gone for a very long time."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. She died proclaiming her love for another man. My son is just... lost. I've been looking for him ever since he left."

"So, you were a man once? An ordinary man?"

"Once."

"How did you.. Why did you change?"

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, remembering the terror he had felt when the soldiers arrived for Bae. His voice trembled with emotion. "There was another ogre war; it was going to claim the life of my son. I couldn't let that happen." He looked at her earnestly, willing her to see how desparate he had been. For some unknown reason, he felt he needed Belle to understand why he did what he did. "But I was a spinner, Belle, in that life. I had no way to save him. An old beggar told me that there was a talisman that controlled the Dark One. If I possessed it, I could force him to stop the war, I could force him to protect my son. But, talismans can be stolen. I stole it from the Duke; I couldn't be certain that no one would steal it from me. So instead of controlling the Dark One, I killed him with it. And assumed his powers and appearance.

"I thought that I would use his magic for good. And I did. I stopped that war and saved thousands of lives. But the Dark One's magic, all dark magic, is fueled by hatred and selfishness."

"I, I don't understand," Belle interupted, "How is it selfish to save children's lives?"

"The selfish part... Is what I have done since, Belle. I am hated and feared, and there is good reason for that."

"I've heard the stories. You have done evil. But you also have done good. And shown mercy. If the end result is good, does it matter if your motivations were selfish?"

He ignored her question. "I could have stopped the ogres from attacking your kingdom."

"You did."

"After I gave you no option but to choose a life of servitude in exchange for the lives of your people." _I wanted you here. To punish you or to punish myself, I'm not sure which anymore. _

"I knew when I agreed to your bargain that I would end my days here; I just didn't know how long I had. Hours? Days? Years? I was walking, unarmed, into the lair of the most feared monster in all the realms. I was petrified of... of what you would do to me or ask of me. But even in those early days, when I was scared and crying every night, if you had given me that choice all over again, I would have made the same decision. To sacrifice my life so that my people could live."

"But don't you see, Belle, that is my point," he argued. "Your servitude against the lives of your countrymen? You could not have made any other choice. So there really was no choice for you to make. Just mine: to stop the war before it began or to wait and either accept the payment offered or to take you. Had there been no war, had I simply made the ogres go away, you would never have agreed to come here. Your people had to die so that I could have you here." As he spoke, Belle started shaking her head no. Her eyes filled with tears.

"You like to think of yourself as a monster. You like that that is how you are seen, don't you? Because then you can pretend that there is no man hiding underneath the scales." Belle got off the bed and walked so that she was standing right next to him. "Rumplestiltskin, ogres attacked my kingdom. Unless you provoked them?" He shook his head no. "Then you did not cause my people's deaths; the ogres did. You saved my people." She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Thank you." Belle wiped away the tears sliding down her face. She took up the tray and walked to the door.

She paused with her hand on the knob. "You are not responsible for everything bad that happens, you know."

Rumplestiltskin stared at the door after she left, her words echoing through his mind. "To get to know him day after day until a day comes when, all of a sudden, I know that this is the man I will love for the rest of my life." His fingers brushed his cheek where her lips had rested against the leathery skin. And he knew: _I love you, Belle._


	20. Some Things are Meant to be Forgotten

A man who had just realized he was in love had two choices: he could either proclaim his love or pretend he wasn't. Rumplestiltkin choose the latter. And by concentrating on Swan's issues, he was able to not think of Belle more than 30 or 40 times each hour.

Swan and her compatriots weren't helping matters, either. Snow White had stolen the ring; David was suitably intrigued. But then Snow dropped the ring, and Swan was captured by Regina while trying to help get the ring back to Snow. At least Snow and David's love story was getting slightly back on track. David had captured Snow in a net. But instead of Snow getting freed and David chasing her onto the troll bridge, they traveled to Regina's castle to rescue Swan.

Rumplestiltskin turned from the crystal ball, erasing its images with a swipe of his hand. He wasn't interested in watching Snow and David fall in love. Especially given his own dilemmas.

Swan, the product of True Love, the Savior who would break his Curse, as soon as she escaped from one misadventure, she stumbled headfirst into the next. Killian Jones, her right hand man, was now completely un-killable. Rumplestiltskin couldn't kill the present-day version or future version wouldn't be here to protect her. And future version couldn't be killed, either, or Swan would withhold information about Bae. So now Rumplestiltskin was required to protect Hook, the man he hated more than any other. Between the three of them, they lived a masterful comedy: the dauntless princess, her faithful servant/lover, and the ever thwarted villain.

Except that the villains in stories never fell in love. Nor did brave maidens fall in love with villains. Did Belle love him or not? _This is ridiculous_, Rumplestilstskin growled to himself. He tried to focus on the forgetting potion bubbling away in front of him. A few more hours and it would be ready. Then he could send Swan and Hook to the future, and forget the last few days even happened. Including the annoyance of knowing he loved. 'It's a miracle you two fall for each other' indicated that Belle at least was going to fall in love with him. But had it happened already? She had kissed him last night, and young women typically did not kiss men they didn't love. But it was a thank you kiss, a peck really, on the cheek. It wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, an I love you type of kiss. But then again, if Belle was in love, would she have the courage to speak of it? Or might she show her love in more subtle ways, like a thank you kiss on the cheek?

Unconsciously his fingers rose to touch his cheek, right where her soft lips had pressed. He closed his eyes, remembering the feeling of their gentle touch, her breath warm against his skin. If he had turned to look at her, would she still have kissed his cheek? Or would she have taken that as an invitation to kiss him elsewhere? Would he now have first hand knowledge of how she tasted? Of how soft her skin really was? Would his fingers be able to recall the silkiness of her hair? A log snapped in the fire, waking him from his reverie. He forced his hand to his side. _I am too old for this. Swan_, he pleaded silently, _please finish up quickly. I need to forget. Now_.

Upon hearing Belle's footsteps in the hallway, Rumplestiltskin schooled his face to be slightly mocking, impassive. And he pretended that the potion in front of him required all of his concentration. She stopped next to him close enough that her hair brushed his arm when she leaned forward to read the spell book.

"A potion of forgetfulness," she read aloud. "What do you need to forget?"

_Love_. "Swan and Hook. They're not supposed to be here. She knows my son; she knows where he is. She's said that I see him again."

Belle tilted her head so she could see his face better. "But that's wonderful!"

"No, that's bad," he corrected her. "Not that I will see him, but that I know,"

"So... knowing the future is a bad?" Belle's faced scrunched up in confusion.

"Well, I can see the future. But I can't see into other worlds, especially not the one where my son is, or rather, where he will be. Right now, I know how to get to my son; I could go there and then today... Now... But unless I am here, the events that lead me and my son to where I know we will be will not occur. So if I were to leave, I would be where he would not."

"So it's a paradox," Belle mused. He nodded. "And you can't just... not go?"

"Self restraint," he smirked, "is not one of my strengths."

Rumplestiltskin was spinning at his wheel in the Great Hall when Belle brought the tea tray in later that afternoon. She poured him a cup and brought it over. "Did you, ah... Did you see my future?"

He took the cup, the chipped one, and sipped from it before answering. "There was a seer. She promised me that I would see my son again, but that I would have to wait a very long time." She settled down on the spinning wheel, her blue eyes peering intently into his lizard brown ones. "She didn't want to see the future anymore, so she gave me her power. I took it gladly, but I, ah, I couldn't control the visions at first. I just wanted to know who was important, what they were going to do to bring me to my son." He took another sip of tea, emptying the cup. "I 'foresaw' you for the first time over 200 years ago. You were wearing that golden gown you arrived in, and you were crying. I had no idea who you were or why you were here."

He got up to pour himself another cup. To be in such close proximity and not be able to touch her, to tell her, was agony. Belle, of course, followed, "Was that it? Was that all you saw?"

"No, there was more. Small fragments. Enough for me to know you were not integral to my search for my son. I wasn't even really sure until you said yes, that you would come here. Fate gave you two futures, one here with me and one with Gaston." He looked down at his finger tracing the broken rim. Such incongruity between the smooth beauty of the porcelain and the ugliness of his scaly skin, the fragility of the porcelain and the coarseness of his black and pitted fingernails. _There's a metaphor in here somewhere_.

"Was I happy? With Gaston?" Belle stepped closer, put her hand on his arm. He forced his muscles to relax after tensing up from her touch.

"He gave you a child. That made you happy." _Until you died from his lack of restraint._

"Do you know my future now?"

"No." _Fiddling with a rose isn't a future_. "I don't want to know your future" _Our future_. "There are some experiences that are meant to be lived."

Belle stepped back and fiddled with the tea pot. "If I'm not important, why did you 'see' me?"

"I didn't say you weren't important; you are just not part of the search for my son." He stepped behind her, allowed himself to cradle her shoulders in his palms. "I don't know why I was to bring you here," he whispered. "Perhaps to remind me that I once was a man, that I was not always a monster."

She leaned back, resting her head against his neck, her back against his chest. He closed his eyes in agony, in ecstasy. "I think you always have been just a man," she whispered back.


	21. Some Things Should be Remembered

**Thank you to Jokermask18 for reading my stories as soon as they post. And to royaltylain and wolfbytes99 for your kind words of encouragement. And a huge thank you to all of you who take time to read my work.**

The forgetting potion was ready. A quick glance into the crystal ball showed that Snow White and David had defeated the trolls; a slightly longer view of their future showed their story was now completely back on track. And a delay of two days did no lasting harm. Swan and Captain Hook were on their way to his castle, basking in their success; Hook carrying, of all things, a strange woman.

Rumplestiltskin sat at his desk to write a message to himself. _I've made and will take a forgetting potion to forget the last few days. Do NOT under any circumstances try to reverse it. There are some things that really are worth forgetting. I'm giving Belle a dosage that will make her forget even more. She will have no memory of Swan or Hook ever being here. STAY AWAY FROM BELLE. She is as dangerous to me as I thought she was at first. Keep your distance both physically and emotionally. Send her away as soon as possible, preferably before the snows come._

Then he measured out a four day dose of the potion, added in a sleeping draft, and headed off to find Belle.

He tracked her to the kitchen where she was chopping vegetables. She slowed but didn't stop, as he entered the room. He placed the vial on the table next to her cutting board. She finished a carrot and threw the pieces into a pot. As she grabbed an onion and began peeling it, she asked angrily, "What if I don't want to forget?"

"Belle," he wheedled, "It's for the best, really. I'm going to take it, too."

She took her knife and smashed it through the onion's middle. As the onion's juices exploded into the air, Belle's eyes filled with tears. "I hated you. And then I didn't." She grabbed the hem of her apron to swipe at the moisture on her face. "And then you were someone to talk to, someone I could call a friend." She alternated between slashing at the onion and wiping her eyes. "But for the last few days, you were... We were..." She looked down at the mess of onion rings and strings and pooling juice on her board. She wearily laid her knife down. "I don't know what was going on over the last few days, but I liked it. I liked the way I felt when I was with you." She lifted the bottle, "If I drink this, that will all be gone."

"It will be forgotten," he corrected her gently, "Not gone."

"No." The bottle plonked onto the table. Belle moved away to put water into the kettle to boil for tea. "Not until you tell me why you brought me here."

"I told you; I needed a housekeeper," he said lightly.

"That may be true, but we both know I was no housekeeper when I arrived. The truth: why me?"

"To give you another option besides broodmare to Gaston."

"No!" she shouted. "No more lies. No. More. Lies!" She gazed into the stove's fire dejectedly. "If I'm going to forget this ever happened, at least I deserve to know the truth."

Rumplestiltskin answered quietly, "I have had one desire my whole life: to protect my family. To keep them safe. I failed with my parents. I failed with my wife. I failed with my son. I watched my son leave me, and I was too afraid to follow. So I found another way to get to him. And then you appeared in my visions. Like the Fates were saying 'Look! Here's a woman who is smart and loving and kind and beautiful. Everything you could ever want in a woman. We'll even make it so that she is not turned off by your murderous dark side. And all you have to do is give up your quest for your son.' The ultimate deal." He smiled cruelly. "A deal I am not going to make. So drink up, my beautiful Belle. Because whatever your feelings were over the last few days, whatever you think my feelings were, there is nothing more important to me than getting to my son. There is your truth," he spat the word, "Belle; I brought you here as a reminder of what is important to me."

The kettle's whistle interrupted the silence his statement brought. Mechanically, Belle went through the routines of getting the tea ready. But instead of pouring herself a cup, she picked up the potion bottle. "Do you love me?" she asked. When it became apparent that no answer would be forthcoming, she put the bottle to her lips and drank its contents in a single gulp.

The sleeping draft was powerful; she was asleep before she managed to put the vial back onto the table. The glass bottle smashed into the floor, shattering into thousands of pieces. Rumplestiltskin used magic to catch her falling body before it slammed into the floor. A little bit more magic took care of cleaning up the kitchen. He cradled her form in his arms, gently kissed her forehead, and answered her final question.

"Yes."


End file.
